


The Table of Despair

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Chronic Pain, Finch whump, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Undeath, Major Whump Fest!, Medical Torture, Original Character Death(s), Pain, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Read at you Own Risk!, This is going to Hurt in More ways Than one, Torture, You Have Been Warned, pain and suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 39
Words: 67,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Finch is captured and John has to get them both out of the hands of a sadistic doctor who has been hired to take revenge on them both. Finch physically and John psychologically. Much pain and suffering ensues as usual, please forgive me!!!!****There are additional chapters after chapter 21 for an alternate ending in which Finch lives****





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of horror flicks, go figure, I had this idea pop into my maniacal brain and this is the result. I also LOVE Edgar Allen Poe and all the old Hammer films of the sixties, especially the one's that feature the great Vincent Price! This is a sick homage to that genre of story telling. So buckle up and read at your own risk!!!!!
> 
> **I have almost no knowledge of human anatomy - I have no knowledge of the human respiratory system and I know next to nothing in the medical field - all inaccuracies in that arena are for fictional purposes only and I ask your indulgence as you read my attempt at entertainment, thank you all!
> 
> *****Chapter Twenty One is the one in which Harold dies - If you don't want to read that one you can skip that chapter entirely and go on to Chapter Twenty-Two in which an alternate ending begins*****
> 
> As always, special thanks to oddgit for proofing and encouragement!
> 
> ***Comments would be greatly appreciated***

When John arrived; by invitation, to the well-secured property, he noted no less than six perimeter cameras outside the massive fenced in compound.

The heavily secured front entrance opened ominously with only enough space for John to squeeze his body through two iron gates. He had to suck in his gut as he pushed his way through and had a momentary flash of fear with the realization that it could easily crush him at any time.

As he approached the steel doors of the building he felt a sudden sense of dread fill him as every one of the camera’s followed his every move, step by step.

The doors opened automatically... admitting him inside a large front office with a door on either side of an expansive monitoring desk. 

The door to his right opened and he moved toward it; he looked behind him as he reached the doorway to see multiple monitoring screens displaying the outside and inside views of the security cameras mounted all over and throughout the building. 

The two screens that caught John’s eye though were the ones that were focused on Finch. He blinked at them hoping they were figments of his imagination. They couldn’t be real because if they were... the situation was far worse than he could have imagined. 

He turned to go through the door and swallowed back the dread that was threatening to overwhelm him. He went down a long corridor to the only door that was open; the one at the far end of the hallway.

He got closer to the room and could vaguely hear sounds of distress and labored breathing getting louder the closer he got to the doorway. 

He closed his eyes and took a breath before he stepped through the threshold into the stark white room. The fear that had been on John’s periphery came up and engulfed him in an instant.

His eyes immediately found his partner and he was assaulted by a wave of nausea at the sight that lay before him.

As he had feared it was Harold’s breathing and sounds of pain that he heard just before he got to the room. The table he was laying on was nothing like he had ever seen before. It was a monstrosity that only a madman could have devised. 

Then he quickly pinpointed a man behind a control panel on the far side of the room.

“The table Mister Finch is strapped to has been designed specifically for him.” The man began to explain as soon as John made eye contact with him. He smiled smugly as John started to sweat.

The man that had Harold captured and brought to him two hours previously knew every detail of Harold’s previous injuries and had all of his body’s measurements, height, and weight down to a tee.

“It was designed to move each of his limbs independently and is capable of moving incrementally as precisely as mere millimeters.” The man enthusiastically went further as if he were giving a lecture. “It was also designed to move almost 360 degrees in all directions.” He smiled again happily as the color drained from John’s face. “It has a tilt actuator and a rotating turntable... allowing its range of motion to be precisely where I want it to be." He described every ability of the tortuous machine with great pride and gratification.

John couldn’t move as he looked at Harold restrained and being forced to lay perfectly still in his bonds. 

He had retained his dress shirt, waistcoat and trousers and John could see the sweat expanding around every point of contact the straps held tightly to his body. 

The overcoat and suit jacket John remembered seeing him earlier that day were lying neatly folded on the floor beneath the table as well as his shoes and socks. 

John also spied a cannula inserted clumsily into the top of Harold’s left hand. He could see from where he stood the dried blood that had seeped from the injection site and he bit back a mixture of outrage and fear for his partner. 

He scanned the room and saw, in a corner, an IV stand with full bags of some kind of solution hanging from two of the four hooks.

As Harold lay there unable to move... he tried to suppress the sounds of pain and distress that came from him to no avail. 

He couldn’t see John from where he lay but he didn’t have to imagine the look of rage that would be on John’s face at his situation. 

The section of the table that his left leg was bound to, was directed away from the natural alignment of his body. The pain in his hip and lower back was excruciating as the table had been moved ever so slightly until it reached the point that began to give Harold’s previous injury hell. He was finding it almost impossible not to cry out from the agony.

The man spoke up when John found he was unable to say anything right away. “Each section has four custom designed wraparound Velcro straps that will prevent any natural movement whatsoever. I can assure you that they're well-padded for minimal discomfort” He smiled in triumph as he finished explaining his creation.

John wanted to throttle the man.

Harold’s chest and abdomen were incapacitated as well with the same type of straps. The only part of his body that wasn’t restrained was his head. There had to be a reason for that oversight but John didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” John asked the infuriating man, unable to hide his rage any longer.

“Who I am is not important and it’s not what I want that you should be concerned with but what my employer wants.” The man sat back comfortably in his chair. “Now Mister Reese, why don’t you have a seat just there next to your partner before I explain how this is going to work.” John hesitated slightly. “Go, I’ll even give you a moment to speak to Mister Finch without interruption.”  
John took a deep breath and picked up the chair that sat next to the wall. He brought it over to Harold’s side, surveying the dreadful table as he went.

He set it down and leaned over into Harold’s line of vision. For some reason John had noticed that Harold was having difficulty turning his head and he wanted to minimize the effort for him.

Harold looked into John’s eyes and he couldn’t hide the expression of pain and regret in them and John felt his heart clench at the sight.

“I’m sorry to have put you into this terrible position, John,” he frowned apologetically.

“Finch, I’m going to get you out of here,” John whispered and tried to seem as confident as he could. Harold didn’t look convinced.

“Do what you can John but do not put anyone else in jeopardy… promise me.” Harold was adamant; he would not put his life before anyone else’s even at the cost of his own.

John didn’t speak and Harold knew how hard that promise would be for him to make.

“John… please. You know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to an innocent because of me.”

“Harold don’t make me promise you that… please!” He whispered angrily.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Harold’s face. The unremitting pain in his lower extremity was terrible and he couldn’t hide it in his features.

“Damn you, John… swear to me you’ll do as I say,” he bit out obstinately. 

John took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment, clenching his teeth tight irritably.

“John!” Harold exclaimed.

John opened his eyes and had tears of frustration stinging them. “Alright, Finch. But if I see a way out of this I’m taking it... do you understand me!?” 

John saw a momentary look of relief in Harold’s eyes at his statement and Harold smiled faintly in acknowledgment.

“Do you know what he wants?” John asked quietly.

Harold pursed his lips and closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

John knew by the expression on Harold’s face that he knew exactly what the man wanted from them.

“Finch… tell me,” he whispered apprehensively.

Harold opened his eyes and looked deeply into John’s, “Remember your promise to me, John. I’m so very sorry but I’m going to hold you to it.”

The suspense was driving him crazy but John waited as patiently as he could and allowed Harold to continue to speak.

“I beg you not to hold yourself accountable for whatever the outcome proves to be. There is absolutely nothing you can do about it and it’s going to be unbearable for you but you have to get through it… there are other people out there that will need your help.”

John was now frightened beyond words as Harold finally answered his question as calmly as he could.

Harold took a deep breath, “He’s been ordered to kill me slowly... while you watch.”

John looked in absolute horror towards the man behind the console and got a broad smile from the bastard in return.

The man rose to his feet, “Alright now… shall we begin?” He exclaimed enthusiastically.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a decision to make, the consequences could be too much for him to bear.

“Just to be clear gentlemen… I have safeguards in place to ensure that Mister Finch will die regardless as to whether I’m alive or not and it won’t be a pretty picture.” He looked down momentarily and did something that John couldn’t see, “But Mister Reese I promise you that you’ll want to leave me alive... just in case my employer has a change of heart.” He grinned again as he looked back over to them. “You never know.”

John looked at him in disbelief while Harold bit back a cry of pain. The table that his left leg was strapped to moved outwardly a tiny bit further.

John looked down at his partner sensing something had happened. The incremental movement that had been applied to Harold’s leg had not been visible to the naked eye but it was felt with cruel intensity as his lower back and hip stabbed at his weakened bone structure ruthlessly.

Harold inhaled sharply and gasped in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth against the onslaught. 

“Finch!” John put his hand on Harold’s forearm anxiously. “What’s happening?”

“My hip…!” He panted. “Please stop!” He begged the man uselessly.

“Tell me what I can do to get you to stop this!” John pleaded.

“I’m sorry Mister Reese, the pain will subside as his body acclimates to its new position; it shouldn’t take too long.” The man made the statement with no emotion whatsoever but was keenly watching all of the damage being inflicted with great interest.

John was close to tears as he could only watch in horror as his partner rode out the pain... feeling as if his leg was being pulled from the hip joint.

Sweat beaded on Harold’s face and he felt lightheaded and close to passing out.

“At least give him a minute to recover!” John exclaimed.

 

“As I’ve told you, once his body amends to its new position, the pain will diminish some. It’s just a waiting game at this point. Ask Mister Finch, he’s already been through two previous adjustments already.” 

John looked down at his partner in shock as Harold fought to stay lucid.

“Harold… let it take you away. Let the pain knock you out, don’t fight it!” John tried to encourage him.

“Now, now Mister Reese that’s not acceptable.” The man admonished him. “Besides I’ve already given him something to keep him awake. We can’t have any cheating, can we? That would defeat the purpose.” The man grinned and winked at John.

“You’re insane…” John stated flatly and gaped at the man in disbelief.

“What I am is good at my job, John,” he replied unfazed. “Now have a seat and I’ll fill you in a little bit. I’m sure you’d like to know who I work for.”

John sat down heavily, he felt dazed and watched in sorrow as Harold slowly calmed his breathing.

“How about I give you a hint, John?” The man sat down as well and grinned maniacally waiting for John’s response. “I’ll tell you this much to start with. My employer is someone that you and Mister Finch have had dealings with on more than one occasion.” The man waited patiently for John to reply.

John made eye contact with Harold who tried to keep the pain and hurt from his expression... but failed miserably. 

"I'm… alright... John..." Harold choked out as sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

John turned his attention back to the other man. 

“No guess? Well, that’s understandable. I’m sure there must be numerous people that fit into that category.” The man sat back comfortably, “Let’s try again. My employer is not a native of the good ole USA… does that help?” He asked amused, he was obviously enjoying his control of the situation. 

“I don’t want to play twenty questions here. Just please tell your boss that I will do anything he asks if he’ll put a stop to this right now,” John replied bitterly.

“Well, you just told him yourself.” The man replied and grinned. “Come now, you don’t think we’re not being watched by him at this very moment, do you? I gave you much more credit than that, John. I must say, you disappoint me.” 

The man leaned forward and did something on the console then looked back at them. “He’s recording this event so that he can show all of his associates that Mister Finch and his right-hand man will no longer be an issue for them in future.

“And I think if I may be so bold… this awe-inspiring table I have devised will have my future carved out for me nicely.” The man was so proud of his machine that John wanted to strap him to it and give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Please… whoever you are, I’ll do anything you want just please stop hurting my partner!” John spoke to the room around him. Then he finally spotted three tiny surveillance cameras spaced out for optimum coverage of the room in the ceiling tiles.

“Ah… I see you’ve found them. It’s about time.” The man remarked. “Let’s wait a little while before I tease you with more information on my esteemed employer.” He grinned, “We’ll have lots of time to talk John, although I’m afraid that Mister Finch probably won’t be feeling up to participating in the conversation much himself.”

If looks could kill... he would surely be dead as John glared daggers at the man.

The man stood up and looked into one of the camera’s, “Are we ready to proceed to the next step, sir?” He waited for a few seconds before he made a move. An earwig obviously, John thought.

“Alright then.” He looked down and did something and the table began to slowly but steadily tilt upright so that Harold was almost vertical. 

His body remained in the same position that it had been while lying horizontally with his arms and legs outstretched slightly but not uncomfortably. 

Though his left leg was out further than the right and was still causing him a severe amount of discomfort, it had become almost tolerable just as the doctor had said it would. 

As the table was re-positioned, Harold panted through the pain the movement caused as his body got used to it. The new angle did nothing to alleviate the pain in his hip and back but at least it didn’t make it any worse. 

John watched attentively and hoped that somehow it would make things a bit easier on his partner’s poor abused body.

When the table came to a stop Harold took deep breaths and John saw that his pallor appeared to improve a fraction.

“Look I don’t know what else you know about Harold but if money is the issue... I can vouch for him and offer you any amount you care to name if you just let us out of here. He’s extremely wealthy,” John stated with a modicum of hope.

“How dare you try and bribe me, John. I have no interest in monetary gain.” The man replied appalled at the mention of money. “What’s important to me is my work… my brilliance has to have an outlet to grow into and my employer is very generous and allows me to demonstrate its potential on live subjects. 

"He encourages my intellect in the art of torture and coercion techniques. What Mister Finch is experiencing is only one of many of my ideas in that arena.” 

John shook his head and glowered at the man. “You claim to be a doctor?”

“I am a doctor; I’m a scientist and an engineer,” he replied smugly.

“No doctor in their right mind would ever harm another human being… you’re a lunatic, unstable and a menace,” John stated absolutely.

The man wasn’t daunted, “Well I never said I was in my right mind... did I, John?” He countered and John heard him flip a switch on the console and the table began to hum quietly.

John and Harold both nervously wondered what the sound was until Harold’s entire body suddenly went rigid then began to convulse as John watched in complete horror.

A few seconds of electrical shock went through Harold’s body while John’s brain tried to catch up with what had just happened as Harold’s body then relaxed.

“Oh, I forgot to mention… it’s completely electrified as well.” The man chuckled in delight and John, not for the last time, knew he was going to kill this man.

Harold sobbed in agony as muscle spasms from the electricity traveled through his body and he felt as if his heart would explode in his chest. 

John was by his side in a moment and kept Harold’s head from sagging to his chest as he tried to get his breathing calmed down.

John could tell his partner was weakening quickly and it scared him tremendously to contemplate what fresh torture this fiend was planning next.

As John stood in front of Harold, helping him hold his head up... Harold tried to ease his conscience. 

He looked into John’s sorrowful eyes. “John… I know it’s hard… but you have to… let it be,” Harold panted. “I’m so sorry… John.”

“Jesus Finch… you can’t worry about me. You’re the one that’s being tortured for God’s sake.”

Harold smiled as well as he could. “What you’re having… to go through… is much worse,” he replied wearily.

“Pick a number between one and ten, John,” the man instructed him.

“Go to hell,” John shot back angrily. 

“Temper Mister Reese. That attitude won’t help you or your partner, now do as I say please.”

Harold spoke up, “Three.” 

“Very good Mister Finch; three it is.” The man looked down at the console and dialed something in and the table began to quietly hum again.

John looked at Finch in terror as he watched Harold’s expression transform into anguish. The section of the table that supports his lower back moved upward, pushing it and forcing his lower abdomen against the tight straps that were holding him to the table… in essence bending his compromised spine at an agonizing angle.

The scream that left Harold’s lips turned John’s blood cold.

“Stop it! Please stop!” John cried over Harold’s sobs of anguish.

The machine quieted as did Harold’s cries of pain. His head began to slump but John was right there to support it.

“He did say three John. Three inches it was; I’d say it was a very good thing for him that he didn’t say ten.” 

The amusement in the man’s voice was unbearable but John knew he needed to be careful so as not to antagonize him pointlessly. It was killing him to be so helpless while being forced to watch Harold go through a living hell.

“Finch…?” John beseeched him. Harold’s eyes were closed and he struggled to open them. “Harold, I can’t stand this… I have to put a stop to it.” He looked into Harold’s tired pain filled eyes and begged him. “Please, let me put a stop to it, let me get you out of here.”

“No John… I’m sorry. He has names… they’ll go after… I’ve seen them… if we don’t do as he says… they’ll die.” Harold gasped out his plea and was still not willing to save himself and John felt tears come to his eyes.

“Now that is one unselfish man,” the bastard remarked, “I am truly impressed by his resolve.

“You understand that I’m going to kill you, right?” John asked the monster. 

“I know that you’ll try John but I’ve been assured that I will be long gone by the time we’re done here. But at least you’ll still be alive to go back to doing what you two, or should I say what you’ll have to do by yourself now, when this is all said and done.” He smiled amused.

Harold was still having trouble holding his head up on his own and keeping his eyes open. He couldn’t control the sounds of agony from leaving his lips almost constantly now. “I’m sorry John…” 

“I’ll tell you what, let’s lay him back down for a little while; we’ll give his poor neck a break, what do you say?” He pushed another button and the table moved to the original position it was in when he first laid eyes on Harold.

John cradled Harold’s head until he lay flat once again. 

“Mister Finch? You’re not sleeping are you?” He asked.

Harold answered weakly, “No.”

“Wonderful, we’re almost ready for the next stage. I’m afraid you’ll have to participate for this part of our session John. I hope you won’t mind.”

Harold opened his eyes and met John’s horrified ones knowing that John was terrified of what he was going to be instructed to do. “John… you have to… do what he wants.”

“Harold… please don’t make me,” he pleaded.

“You must, John… you swore to me… I know you can get through it.” Harold took a shuddering breath knowing how difficult a position John was in. “Please… don’t let it break you.”

John stood up fully and glared at the man behind the console with tears of rage blurring his vision. He took a deep breath and demanded, “What in the hell do you want me to do?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh good. You see your brilliant partner accepts what is going to be done to him and you should too John. It would be much easier on you both.” He looked down again at the console and John wanted to get a look at what drew the man’s attention so much but he’d have to wait for an opportunity to do so. 

"I’m going to have to admit… I’m slightly saddened to have to do all of this to someone who clearly doesn’t deserve to die.” He paused for a few seconds then stood up and clapped his hands together in enthusiasm. “Now this is what you are going to do John.”

Harold and John both knew there would be no reasoning or negotiating with this lunatic. He was definitely mentally disturbed and unbalanced.

John looked back at Harold and found the strength he needed to get them through this next part, whatever it turned out to be, in Harold’s eyes. In all the years he worked for the government John had never seen such strength and will be displayed in anyone else before and he was humbled beyond measure.

“Now I’m not moving from my station here so you’ll have to be my stand-in,” he chuckled. “You see, although you’ve given Mister Finch your word. I just can’t take the chance that you won’t snap my neck if I get too close. So, you’ll have to do as I instruct.”

John glared at him as he went on, “As you’ve noticed, there is a cannula inserted into the top of your partner’s hand, I want you to go to the corner there and wheel the IV stand over beside him. I have pre-set all of the information into the pump and it’s ready to go. So, as you see I’ve already done most of the work. All you have to do is hook him up.”

John couldn’t wait until he could wipe the ever present smug grin off of the asshole’s face. He looked down and Harold nodded through the pain; his reassurance for John to do as he was told.

“What’s in the bags?” John asked as he moved across the room to retrieve the fluids.

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that John. I can assure you that it’s nothing that will kill Mister Finch. That’s all you really need to know about it. As a matter of fact, he may even enjoy the effects for a little while.” 

John stood the pole next to Harold and looked at the bags more carefully. They were unmarked and John’s heart sped up as he anticipated what came next.

Harold had quieted his breathing some and concentrated on keeping himself from letting out sounds of pain as well as he could. 

John didn’t need to hear that; it was painful enough for him to have to comply with the madman’s orders. Harold didn’t want him to be reminded of the continuous pain he was in more than he was already aware of.

“Now John, I’m sure you know what comes next,” the man grinned.

“How do I know this won’t kill him?” John asked angrily.

“Come on John. You know I could have already killed him many times over by now, don’t you think? And in much more entertaining ways than poison.” The man sat back and grinned at him again wickedly.

John couldn’t bring himself to do it right away and the man was starting to get a little impatient. 

As John looked down at Harold, imploring him again with his eyes to let him get them out of there... Harold was viciously shocked again. 

His body momentarily bucked and strained as much as it could against the straps while his jaw clenched painfully eliciting a pitiful whimper from him.

“Stop damn you… stop!” John exclaimed.

“It looked like you needed a reminder of who’s in charge here John. When I ask you to do something, I expect it to get done immediately. Surely you would show Mister Finch the same respect without question.”

“John…” Harold gasped, “Just do it.”

John unwillingly inserted the needle that hung from the stand into the cannula that was sticking out of the top of Harold’s hand.

“Very good. Now turn the pump on John,” the man ordered.

John looked at the machine and flipped the switch. It powered up and John watched in apprehension as the solution from the bags trickled through the lines and slowly entered Harold’s blood stream.

Harold’s brows furrowed as he felt a warmth begin to flood his veins. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling and he waited with dread for some adverse reaction but it was slow to come.

“How do you feel Finch?” John asked anxiously.

“I feel…” Harold seemed to drift off consciously and went quiet as his eyes scanned the room.

John watched him closely... only taking his eye off of him once to look at the delighted look on the bastard behind the console’s face. He was almost laughing when John looked at him in disgust.

“Harold?” John prompted him again. 

“Hmm…?” Finch replied absently. 

“Finch are you alright?” John tried to look into Harold’s eyes but he was too interested in peering around the room unfocused. Pausing here and there for a moment to stare at something on the ceiling.

It took John half a minute to realize… Harold had been given some type of hallucinogen.

He heard the man snicker and he once again felt like taking him apart with his bare hands.

“I told you he might enjoy it for a minute,” he chuckled.

John tried to hold Harold’s head still as he continued to look all around the room, turning his neck more than he would normally if he were cognizant and John looked into his eyes. Harold’s pupils were blown wide and he smiled at John. “There you are,” he said happily.

John took a deep breath. He smiled back at him as best as he could. John knew that the feeling of euphoria Harold was experiencing at the moment would disappear at any time. 

“Yeah, Finch I’m right here,” he answered somberly.

“Hmm, I miss you,” Harold said sweetly and tried to sit up.

Slowly his expression turned sad as melancholy began to introduce itself into Harold’s experience and his brows creased in confusion as he looked into John’s eyes.

“Let me up, Nathan…” He struggled and pain flashed across his features as his strenuous attempt of movement were exasperating his neck injury. “Why won’t you let me up?” He asked, confused as he continued to try and sit up.

“Harold calm down,” John tried to sooth him as he lay some of his own body weight across his partner’s chest. The angle was almost impossible with the position of Harold’s body as it lay on the table but he tried to keep Harold from straining his neck further as he fought to get up. 

John tried as hard as he could to mitigate the excess stress of movement Harold was unwittingly adding to his already taxed frame by pulling against his bonds. He felt horrible forcibly holding his partner down. Harold wasn’t in his right mind John understood that but it didn’t make it any easier on his conscience as he applied all of his strength to him keep him still. 

“Get off me!” Harold didn’t know what was happening to him, all he knew was that he needed to get up… he needed to get away.

“Let me go!” Harold wailed and tried to pull against his restraints and away from John as he began to panic further. His hands clenched and fisted as he tried to move. His shirt was soaked with sweat now as he continued to try to get up and away from being bound.

John looked over at the man and pleaded with him, “Please, let him get up!”

“I’m sorry John; you know the rules, I can’t. You’ll just have to help him through it and it’s not going to get any better I’m afraid.”

“Help!” Harold screamed. “John, help!” He continued.

“Finch look at me!” John pleaded. He put his hands on either side of his face again trying to hold his head still. John cringed at the knowledge that Harold was damaging his spine as he shook his head back and forth trying to find a way out of his restraints.

Suddenly Harold went still and the look of pure horror that came over his partner’s expression scared the hell out of John as he looked into John’s eyes.

“Dad… you’re dead…! You’re dead!” Harold saw his father’s face in front of his disbelieving eyes but he knew that he had been dead for decades now. 

It was impossible and it could only mean one thing… Harold was dead too.

“Please… I’m not done yet, dad… please let me finish, please!” Harold’s weary eyes were streaming tears now and John was at a loss as his partner begged him to let him finish something he had no idea of.

“Harold… Harold shhh…” John soothed him while he held his gaze. “It’s alright shhh…” John continued and it seemed to work for a moment as Harold quieted and his expression calmed some as he looked at John thoughtfully.

Suddenly the table began to vibrate and Harold’s expression transformed again into a look of absolute horror as his father’s face began to mutate in front of him and he screamed again and again until his voice gave out.

John was frantic, he looked over to the console and glared at the man as he grinned and had his feet propped up and his hands clasped around his head watching the actions play out in front of him with sickening delight. 

All John could do was worry and try to calm Harold as he leaned over his partner and tried to keep him from causing irreparable damage to his upper spine as he continued to try and struggle hopelessly. He could only imagine what horror’s Finch was living in his mind as the table continued to vibrate beneath them.

Harold began to weep uncontrollably as he watched, in terror, his father’s flesh melt off of his skull before his terrified eyes.

“No… please don’t leave me… please!” Harold sobbed brokenly. 

John looked back over to the heartless fiend to see him still sitting there watching, highly entertained by the pain and suffering he was watching.

Harold had started to hyperventilate as he resisted his tight bonds to the point of exhaustion but he continued to stare at John as he instinctually struggled to breathe. As his struggling was finally abating with fatigue he began wheezing from lack of oxygen. 

John knew he would get no help from the monster that was orchestrating the events in the room. He looked around the room frantically for something to put over Harold’s mouth to help him return the expelled carbon dioxide back into his body after gasping and wheezing so much. 

He didn’t see anything he could use and all he could do was cross his fingers it wasn’t too late for Harold to get his breathing regulated without assistance. The vibrations of the table had stopped but it did nothing for John’s peace of mind.

“Harold it’s alright… you’re okay.” John tried again to soothe him and calm him but John could feel Harold’s heartbeat thundering in his chest. 

“Help… help…” Harold repeated over and over again weakly, begging for what? John had no idea.

“The first part should be petering out quickly, for now, John. You shouldn’t have to hold his head still for much longer but I’m afraid that he may have some issues with anxiety very soon.” 

The asshole behind the console spoke up, “The next thing he’ll have to survive is a stimulant. If he makes it through that I’m anxious to show you more of what my table is capable of.” He yawned, “I do hope he makes it, the best is yet to come.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More torment for Harold... and for John.

“You’re a sick son of a bitch.” John’s voice was barely audible as he pushed Harold’s sweat drenched hair back from his forehead and his body trembled beneath him. 

“Harold, please make it through,” He whispered, “There has to be a way out of this… please.”

Harold lost the strength to fight anymore and had gone completely still as he squinted straight up at the ceiling vacantly.

John stood up hesitantly. He felt the desire to maintain physical contact to help comfort his partner and himself but was now more focused on Harold’s ability to breathe and his lack of reaction to his surroundings.

He leaned over and removed Harold’s skewed glasses and put them in his suit pocket. Harold didn’t respond to anything, not the removal of his means to see nor John’s voice as he spoke softly to him.

“Harold…?”John looked into his eyes and saw that his pupils had retracted to a pin point and his breathing had now become shallow.

“Hmm, I do hope that I guessed correctly on the doses.” The monster looked down at his console and appeared to study something as John clenched his jaw tight.

“I’m aware of the medication’s Mister Finch is on, his schedule and how much he takes, we should be seeing him a bit more animated than he is now.” For the first time John actually saw the grin fall from the madman’s face.

“I wonder…” The man pondered for a moment. “Well let’s just try something...” He leaned in and did something on the control panel and the table began to tilt again but this time it was in the opposite direction. John stepped back as it suddenly began to slowly angle Harold’s body upside down.

“Stop you son of a bitch!” John was ready to go after the man but Harold began to whimper in pain and fear as his world began to tilt on its axis. John got as close as he could to him and he watched in panic as Harold’s face and neck begin to turn red as the blood flow began to make its way to his head.

“Ah good! We have lift-off.” Was the exclamation of delight heard from behind the console. 

“God damn you stop, he’s afraid!” John screamed and kneeled down to put his hand on Harold’s terrified face. “Please! You’re scaring him!” He screamed again.

“Alright but just this once John.” The table moved again in the opposite direction until Harold came to lay flat once again.

“I didn’t like that angle anyway.” The bastard laughed. “I like to be able to study my subjects reactions… there just wasn’t enough of a view that way.”

Harold once again began to pant desperately, he couldn’t speak as he fought to fill his lungs with air. His heart was beating so fast now as John laid his hand over it that he feared a heart attack at any moment.

“Please Harold…” John begged, “Please let me help you.”

Harold looked him in the eye and shook his head then squeezed his eyes closed and tried to calm his breathing.

Though Harold wasn’t out of it mentally anymore John only felt minutely better as he knew how close his partner was and still remained to death.

“You see that...?” The fiend interjected, “Now that is just the epitome of committed.” He sat back again and grinned as John now started to actively consider different methods of killing him in the most painful ways he could imagine.

“He should be through the stimulate stage soon John then we can get to work.” He stated happily. “I am so looking forward to demonstrating more of my table’s wonderful features. We’ve only scratched the surface.”

John looked at him in incredulity. “You are completely insane you psychotic bastard.” John replied as cold and threateningly as he could letting the low tone of menace fill his words. “I am going to kill you the first opportunity I get.” John wanted this sicko to feel the hate and animosity in his words profoundly. He wanted him to understand that he would get his revenge no matter the cost. 

“You had better hope that Harold doesn’t change his mind because if he does that will be the last minute of your pathetic life you piece of shit.” John watched the grin fall from the monster’s features and he leaned in toward the console and hit the switch for the electric shock again.

This time he let it shock Harold until John relented and pleaded for him to stop.

Harold stiffened and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his body was assaulted yet again by high electrical currents flowing through his nervous system clenching every muscle in his abused body taut as a bow string. His mind vacated his body momentarily as it fought to escape this current agony.

“Harold!” John cried and waited in fear as Harold’s body relaxed and went slack on the table.

“As you can tell John, not only is that the current favorite feature of my table it also works to shut you up as well.” He stared at John waiting for him to give him another reason to inflict another dose on Harold.

John clamped his mouth shut and turned his attention back to Finch as he lay trembling on the table and now suffering through another round of muscle spasms. Harold was too exhausted to even whimper from the pain throughout his entire body and sweat pooled around and under his head.

John touched Harold’s cheek and bent over to whisper softly to him. “I’m so sorry Finch…” He looked into his pain filled eyes and felt hot tears run down his cheeks as he blamed himself for undue suffering inflicted on his partner, “I’m so sorry, I won’t antagonize him again… I’m so sorry.” John put his forehead to Harold’s for a moment then stood up to see tears of sorrow now running down the sides of Harold’s face as well as he continued to try to get his breathing under control.

Harold’s brain slowly began to function properly again as his heart raced and all he could think about was how much emotional distress this whole thing was putting on John. He had never met anyone before with the mental acuity to live through all of the extreme conditions of every form as John had and come out of it so well. He knew he had demons of course, they both did but for the most part John was as normal a person as he had ever known.

John was a marvel of physical and mental stamina but Harold realized with great regret that this might be the end of his tether. This event may be the last straw, he despised the idea that what he had asked John to do, or not to do in this case, might be the final thing that would push him over the threshold of living back into welcoming death. He shuddered at the thought. If anyone in the world deserved another chance at life it was John.

“Hang in there Harold…” John took Harold’s hand and gently squeezed it and urged him to hold on. Harold could see the wheels turning in John’s head as he tried to figure a way out of their dilemma but Harold knew that there was no way out of it. He had already run every scenario through his own mind and knew there was nothing to do but comply with whatever their captor wanted to do to them. He tried to smile but found that he couldn’t. The pain and fear of the unknown was too much. He squeezed John’s hand in return instead.

“I see that Mister Finch is starting to have a little easier time of it.” The man looked over to them and grinned infuriatingly again. 

“He must have a readout of your vitals Finch.” John remarked quietly. He bent over and looked under the apparatus curiously and saw a multitude of fine wires running under the table.

John stood up and looked at the man questioningly. 

“Yes you see John, my machine can do so many things, as I’ve already told you… you haven’t seen the best parts yet.” 

John couldn’t imagine what Harold was having to endure. It made him furious that anyone could inflict such profound suffering and ultimately death on such a gentle and compassionate soul. 

Whatever the outcome proved to be in this room, when everything was all said and done, John was going to hunt this man and the man that had hired him down and make them suffer for days. And then he would dare the son of a bitch to grin again.

“Now then John, if you would, I’d like you to unhook Mister Finch from the IV for the moment. Then I want you to stand back away from my table and watch just another small taste of its potential.”

John looked down at Harold with fear in his eyes. “It’s okay…  
John,” he responded weakly.

John was speechless for a moment, “I’m not going to ask you again John. This is the last time I’m going to warn you. Is it your wish to see your partner continuously shocked or are you just that slow to take direction?” 

John glared at the man but did as he was told. He disconnected Harold from the bags and directed the IV stand away from the table and stood with his back to the wall with great trepidation. He waited to see what new torture Harold would be subjected to.

“You know what John, I’m feeling generous at the moment. I’ll let you decide what happens next.” The bastard again grinned his infuriating grin as John waited for the fiend to continue.

“Just for now I’m going to give you a choice; either we make Mister Finch bleed or we break a bone, which do you prefer?” 

The monster was so flippant about the choices that John was almost in shock. He felt almost faint at the suggestion of either of the selections being applied to Harold and that he would have to decide one of the two made him feel physically sick.

He looked at Harold who laid there so stoically and composed and wondered if maybe he hadn’t heard the monster’s directive.

It was too late, Harold was once again shocked mercilessly as John took too long to think about the horrific choice he was directed to make.

“Bleed!” John shouted quickly as Harold went ridged on the table. 

He couldn’t stand it and turned from the room and bit back a sob as the realization that he was completely out of control of the situation was killing him inside. Harold deserved so much better and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Harold’s body collapsed wearily and he let out a quiet sob as his muscles relaxed. He didn’t know how much more he could take but tried to concentrate on breathing again and to forget the continuous pain he was in. 

It was an impossibility, Harold was now hoping that it would be over quickly, it wasn’t just him that was being tortured… it was John was as well.

“Very good!” the monster rose from his chair and smiled excitedly, “Now just watch this…”


	5. Chapter 5

John held his breath and watched in trepidation for what he expected would be something unbearably difficult to watch.

The man leaned in and seemed to take a moment to make a decision and then John heard the quick sound of a noise he couldn’t readily identify. John observed his partner take a short inhalation of breath and startled at some sort of surprised discomfort.

“Unfortunately we couldn’t actually see what has just occurred so I will have to explain it to you instead,” the monster stated smugly.

John watched Harold’s face avidly for a reaction of pain to whatever had just occurred but all he saw was a look of thoughtful concentration, as if he didn’t really understand exactly what it was that had happened. 

As the asshole continued and to John’s absolute horror the white dress shirt Harold was wearing began to blossom red beneath his upper back and moved swiftly to spread and soak into the gray satin of his waistcoat.

Harold didn’t respond audibly but furrowed his eyebrows as he felt a sudden sting in the area of his scapula and then a wet warmth spread from around it.

“You see gentleman, my table is equipped with a number of fine stainless steel blades that are positioned throughout the entire span of it.”

John watched Harold intently for any further reaction from him but nothing seemed to have phased him. The vile man continued explaining this new feature of his dreaded monstrosity with great pleasure. 

“Each blade has its own individual width and length depending on what I dial in and which area of the body it comes in contact with… I can lower or raise each edge to a precise measure. It’s really quite impressive if I do say so myself.” 

He grinned, “What I have just done in this case was… puncture, if you will, an area just underneath Mister Finch’s shoulder blade precisely one and one quarter inch into his flesh.” He smiled triumphantly, “I didn’t go deep enough or come close enough to any vital organs to cause permanent harm so you needn’t worry too much over it. The wound is just a bleeder really,” he chuckled. 

“Jesus Christ…” John whispered in dismay as the crimson blood now began to seep from the wound and be soaked further into Harold’s clothing.

“Now John; don’t be so hard on yourself, you picked the best option for your partner.” He grinned at him while he watched the dismay turn into disgust in John’s expression.

“You’re completely insane,” John stated numbly as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the crimson color enveloping Harold’s shirt and waistcoat.

“No John, I really mean it,” he began. “This wound isn’t life threatening at this point. You see, the depth of the injury isn’t that bad, it’s really just messy and although the blood loss will cause a bit of light headedness and discomfort... it shouldn’t kill him before it’s had a chance to eventually slow down and then abate. It’ll just throb relentlessly. But as you know, Mister Finch has had to deal with much worse in his lifetime.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing and stared at the madman in astonishment.

He continued on, “If you had chosen to break one of Mister Finch’s bones…” He paused for a quick moment as something caught his eye on the console and then continued, “Well that injury would have sustained a more painful and lasting result and he would have had no relief whatsoever.” He grinned again, “So you really did what was best for him given the options available to you.”

John was finally able to move and go to his partner.

He stood next to him and put his hand on Harold’s forearm. 

“I’m sorry Finch,” He said sorrowfully and looked at the expression of acceptance on Harold’s face with empathy. He then watched in repulsion as the blood was now being drawn from and expanding around his side and creeping to the front of Harold’s clothing as it seeped from the wound and was sucked up by the cloth. There was nothing he could do about the injury with Harold strapped to the table as he was and as hard as it was he had to accept it for now.

“It’s alright John…” Harold replied softly as he looked at him. “You made… the right call.” Harold’s speech began to slur from the weakened state of his body but tried his best at a smile of reassurance.

It was becoming almost impossible to let this continue. John wanted to ask if he could at least get a look at the wound but knew he would be refused. So he again let hatred fill him to keep him going... and as much as he hated Finch’s order to comply with the fiend's whims, he would honor it. 

“As I’ve already stated gentlemen, I’m very proud of my table and I am looking forward to revealing all of its abilities very soon and I have you to thank for it.” He sat back happily.

“If you’d like to offer your partner some water and have a drink also, you are more than welcome to go to the fridge and help yourself.” The asshole offered with a devious smile on his face, “I’m actually getting a little thirsty myself so if you wouldn’t mind tossing me a bottle I would be most grateful.” He grinned expectantly.

John wanted to tell him to fuck off and get his own damn drink but couldn’t risk it.

John looked down at his poor partner. “Harold… do you think you can you drink some water?”

“I’d like to… try please, John.” Harold licked his dry lips in anticipation and hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until being reminded that he hadn’t anything to drink for many hours.

John looked back at the asshole and he pointed to a small refrigerator built into a cabinet in one corner of the room.

“Please help yourself, John.” The asshole encouraged him and he walked over and opened the door. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing when he looked inside the appliance.

Inside the cooler were multiple bags of blood… and not just any type, they were all Harold’s blood type. There were liquid vials of drugs of all sorts. 

John was stunned at the sheer variety of opiates and other types of potentially detrimental intravenous medicinal supplies inside. The fear for his partner’s life hit a new high. 

John swallowed hard and for the first time since he entered the room, he truly considered the possibility of disobeying Harold’s orders. Seeing this stockpile of materials stored and at the ready indicated to him that this monster could very well be intending to torture Harold for days.

John wouldn’t be able to let that happen. He couldn’t let that happen. There was no way in hell he could stand by and watch Harold being taken apart inch by tortuous inch for days on end. 

He would have to make his decision soon but for now, it was going to be one step at a time. 

John took out two bottled waters and walked back over to the table. He threw one of the bottles across the considerable expanse of the room to the asshole behind the console.

“Thank you, John.” He had stood up and caught the water bottle then sat back down comfortably and smiled at him in thanks.

“Here you go Finch, it’s nice and cold do you think you could lift your head up a little bit?” John asked hesitantly.

Harold smiled faintly until a stab of excruciating pain assaulted the back of his neck as he tried to raise his head. It felt as if someone had yanked his skull away from his spine; the pain was agonizing and he saw a firestorm of lights flashing behind his eyelids.

John watched in despair as Harold had squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw together painfully and fisted his hands.

“Harold! What’s happening!?” John exclaimed and turned to look in the direction of the console.

“Oh dear, it looks as if Mister Finch may have exacerbated his old spinal injury.” The expression of what could only be described as sickening delight plastered on the vile monster’s face, made him want to kill him more in that moment than he had up to that point.

John must have thought that he had something to do with Harold’s current display of agony and he was quick to defend himself. He put his water down and held his hands up on either side of himself in his defense.

“I swear John,” he grinned, “I had nothing to do with that.” 

John didn’t believe him and glared at the bastard as Harold tried to ride out the pain.

“Look, I’ll raise him up some to minimize the stress to his neck. You can help him get a nice cold drink.” He did something and the table began to raise Harold to a more vertical angle.

“This is a show of good faith, John. You should be grateful that I’m allowing you this much.” He again grinned wickedly and sat back in his chair.

John watched Harold’s expression of pain soften a bit as he was in a better position to take some of the strain off of his neck. 

John leaned down and picked up Harold’s suit jacket and pulled out his pocket square and doused it with water then dabbed and wiped the beads of sweat off of Harold’s pale face. 

He then took the opportunity to pull Harold’s tie loose and undo the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Aw isn’t that thoughtful,” The asshole remarked sarcastically.

John ignored him and continued his task. What he couldn’t ignore though was the blood soaked clothing that Harold now wore. 

The spread of the stain had finally seemed to have stopped its progression through the fine weave of the cloth but the gory visual of it was impossible to ignore. It permeated his shirt and into the back of the waistcoat almost entirely.

He swallowed back the lump in his throat and waited for Harold to compose himself before putting the water bottle to his lips.

“Finch…” John put the water to Harold’s lips when he saw the pain finally abate some in his worn features.

Harold forced his eyes opened and signaled for John to tilt the bottle upward while John helped to support the back of Harold’s head. He gratefully welcomed the cool liquid to fill his dry mouth and soothe his raw, sore throat. He tried to swallow it as best as he was able… half of it dribbled down his chin and the front of himself but he couldn’t care less.

Harold took in as much as he was able and pulled away from the bottle grateful that he had been able to relieve, for a fraction of time, his discomfort from dehydration. 

He smiled faintly into John’s eyes and allowed his head to rest back against the table and he closed his eyes again. The effort of keeping them open was becoming a challenge as the time strapped to the table wore on at a glacial pace.

“Feel better now, gentlemen?” The monster asked pleasantly.

John looked over at him angrily and waited once again for the next torture to be announced.

As Harold lay there exhausted and his entire body hurting... he felt himself drifting off from his surroundings. He wasn’t sure if he was just tired from everything that had been done to him or if his mind had decided to check out on its own for good. 

Whatever the case, he was content to follow it into the unknown. The last thing he remembered before he left his consciousness was the man asking if he enjoyed amusement park rides…


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless suffering for our heroes continues...

“You can’t be serious, you sick fuck.” John couldn’t help himself; he had recognized that Harold had passed out and was fearful of what would happen to him when the madman realized it but the words had left his mouth before he knew it.

The man’s grin faded at John’s spiteful words and he knew immediately that he had screwed up royally.

“Listen, I’m sorry I spoke without thinking. Please don’t punish him for my stupidity. I’ll do anything you want if you’ll just let him rest a bit,” John practically begged.

“You’re missing the whole point of the lesson John,” the man answered sarcastically. “Your partner explained it to you quite accurately as to what the direction and the end game was here.” He went on, “The whole reason my employer gave me the the time necessary and the money that was required to design and equip my masterpiece of pain was to prove just how brilliantly effective the table can be to break any individual on the planet… whether they are the one strapped to the table…” he waved his hand in indication towards Harold,” or not… as has been displayed to great satisfaction so far by you.” 

John swallowed hard as once again the evil grin returned to their tormentor’ face. “You see how close you are to breaking John?” He teased, “And you’re not even the one that is being physically tortured. That being said, you need to wake him up, John,” He ordered snidely. “You need to wake him up right now… or I will.”

John had only a split second to think before he put his hand on Harold’s face. “Finch…” He stroked his thumb across Harold’s cheek. 

John got no reaction from his exhausted partner and it tore him up inside but he knew he had to rouse him before the insane man took the matter into his own hands.

John bit back tears as he now put his free hand to Harold’s shoulder and as gently as he could, he shook him while still holding Harold’s face with the other. 

“Finch… please wake up.” John shook him a bit harder and when there was still no reaction the table began to hum once again.

John quickly put both hands on either side of Harold’s face and raised his voice in earnest to wake him before the fiend could activate whatever he was going to do to rouse his unconscious partner.

“Harold!” John exclaimed as panic began to rise up in his chest. “Harold wake up!” He tried again and again.

It was no use. John couldn’t wake the exhausted man and cringed inwardly in fear of the unknown.

Suddenly John felt the table vibrate and begin to move and shift positions again. 

“I’d step back if I were you, John.” The fiend suggested. “You’re in the way, you don’t want to get hurt do you?”

Though John hated to let go of Harold and lose the physical contact, there was nothing he could do to stop what had already been put into motion.

“Please!” John pleaded to deaf ears as the action of what the monster had done on the console progressed painfully for John as he watched. All he could do was look on in fear and anxiety at his partner’s still form pinned to a table of misery and wait to see what the insane man had in store for him.

The table continued in a forward motion until Harold, still unconscious, had become completely vertical. It slowly moved further and pitched onward until gravity released its hold and Harold’s head fell forward swiftly and unrestrained toward his chest, waking him violently.

John raked his hands through his hair painfully. Pulling at it angrily and frustratingly as he watched and heard Harold cry out in abandon a blood-curdling scream.

John’s blood went cold as the sound of pure and utter agony was heard in Harold’s cry’s as his upper spine was assaulted without mercy… while he once again could offer no help to alleviate his partner’s plight.

“Well, I guess Mister Finch is back with us again without question now.” The man spoke up giggling in sick delight.

“What’s… happening?” Harold rasped out weakly as he tried to figure out what was going on. And then suddenly it all came back to him in a brutal fashion as he attempted to raise his head with little success. He groaned feebly through the labored breaths he instinctually tried to take as his head hung heavily in an agonizingly strained position and the table moved to its final position for the moment.

John could only grit his teeth painfully and he got as close as he could to the table before it finally came to a stop.

This last brutal jolt of agony drained every ounce of strength Harold might have had in reserve from him. 

He didn’t have the strength to hold his head in a controlled manner anymore and the weight of it pulled at his fused vertebrae mercilessly to hang cripplingly from his immobilized shoulders. As the table finally came to its programmed trajectory his body now faced parallel a few feet from the floor.

Harold retched and threw up bile and what little bit of water he had in his stomach as the pain shot through and stabbed the back of his head and neck excruciatingly. His vision began to white out around the edges. John now hurriedly sat on the floor and tried to support Harold’s head the best he could with the awkward angle being as it was.

“Jesus Finch… I’m pleading with you, please let me put an end to this.”

Harold couldn’t reply as he tried not to heave again. He felt so nauseas from the pain that he felt that if he even so much as thought about opening his mouth he would expel whatever he might have left in his stomach. 

He just closed his eyes and shook his head as much as he could as John held his ashen face in his strong hands.

“How long do you think you can hold his head like that John?” The fiend asked amused. “Your arms are going to give out sooner or later.”

Harold opened his eyes after a few moments of composing himself and looked into John’s eyes painfully. “Let me go, John…” He requested weakly.

“I can’t Harold… it will be too hard on the pins in your neck. You won’t be able to stand it and who knows what further damage it will cause.” He pleaded for Harold to let him help him keep his head from sagging but Harold had other ideas.

“I don’t… mean that, John,” He replied solemnly.

Then it hit John like a ton of bricks. “Please don’t ask that of me, Harold.” Tears came to John’s eyes as he sat looking into the pain ridden face of his savior and best friend hanging and pinned to a horrific torture device. “Please don’t Harold.”

“You could end it… quickly John," Harold panted out while sweat dripped to mingle with the liquid from before.

The monster stood from his chair. “That’s not allowed Mister Finch!” He exclaimed angrily. “There will be no assisted suicide permissible or it will be on you! It will be you who would be held responsible for so many deaths, is that understood!” He exclaimed angrily and slammed his fist down for greater effect and added, “And there will be no suicide on your part acceptable either, Mister Finch.”

John shut his eyes tightly and tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t think clearly as thoughts of retribution filled his mind to the end of all else.

“John…” Harold whispered and John opened his eyes and looked into Harold’s sadly. 

“I’m sorry…” He stated weakly with great remorse and pain and his eyes fell closed again. “I’m so…” John felt the weight in his hands increase as Harold fell unconscious again.

John heard the asshole sit down and remarked loudly. “If you want to continue your examples of what your sick table can do then I suggest you get him in a better position to breathe on his own,” John spat venomously.

The man remained quiet and John added, “My arms are getting tired and if I can’t support his head, his airway will be obstructed and he’ll suffocate.” His arms were becoming fatigued and John was scared to death Harold would die if he let go.

He heard the chair shift behind him and the table began to hum again.

“Well, I can’t argue with you on that point John.”

John closed his eyes and sighed in relief as it began to turn over again slowly sideways this time to a lay Harold in a supine position.

“And I do have a lot more to demonstrate. I would hate to deny you or Mister Finch any details,” he stated happily. 

John bit back a retort with great restraint; he concentrated instead on supporting Harold’s head the entire time the table moved and he twisted and turned his own body with it until it stopped and Harold lay flat on his back again.

It was while John had sat on the floor helping to support Finch that he had really taken note of and studied the fine tracking ridge that encircled the table. He looked at it closer now that Finch was out of immediate danger.

“I see you’ve noticed one of the intricacies of my table,” the man stated. Pleased that John was now paying more attention to the finer points of his marvelous invention.

“If you’ll be so kind as to rouse Mister Finch once more, I will gladly tell you all about it. I would hate for him to miss out on anything.”

John once again had to use every bit of skill he had been taught in distancing himself from the situation as he looked down at his partner. 

Harold’s shirt and waistcoat had begun to stiffen and turn a grotesque rust color as the clothing started to oxidize from drying out. The unnatural pallor of his skin was awful to see and his bare eyelids were a stark pink hue, resulting from the strain of everything that had been put upon him.

For a split second, John wanted to be selfish and replace Harold’s glasses so that he could hide the peculiar and disturbing sight of seeing his eyes unadorned. 

He was ashamed of himself for feeling uncomfortable seeing his partner without the veil of his spectacles.

“Let’s go, John,” the asshole prompted irritably.

“Finch wake up please...” John tried to awaken him but again Harold was slow to respond. He hated to do it but John closed his own eyes for a second more and then put his hand on Harold’s forearm and squeezed until Harold stirred as the pressure increased. 

Harold opened his tired eyes and blinked up at him in confusion. John maintained eye contact until Finch eventually remembered what was happening. 

John didn’t trust himself not to weep so he didn’t say anything to him but he was sure Harold could see the moisture in his eyes and he tried to smile up at John in reassurance.

“Mister Finch… welcome back sir!” The bastard shifted in his chair and began. 

“As I started to explain to John here, my machine is able to do an almost unending number of maneuvers. The table is fed by a fine mesh power source that I myself have designed. There are also tiny metal wires that run through each and every strap and apply a charge of electricity through them as well as the table itself. I can opt to let them shock him each individually or unison.” He noticed that Harold had begun to seemingly nod out and his eyes began to slip closed again in exhaustion. "Here's a perfect example." he mused and hit a switch. 

The table once again began to hum and before John could object ... Harold was shocked back into full and unremitting painful awareness as his upper body stiffened then immediately relaxed.

Harold whimpered quietly as John touched his hand to his cheek and tried to soothe and quiet his breathing. “Shhh… I’m here Harold,” John choked out.

"Now you see that time I only initiated the straps that hold his upper body in place, although I personally prefer the whole body effect." He chuckled.

Exhaustion was at an all-time high and again Harold began to lose consciousness and once more he was mercilessly hit with a full body electrical charge.

"See the difference?" the bastard asked delightedly.

“God damn you!” John cried, “He can’t help it you monster!” John was at his wit's end and looked down at his suffering partner.

“I can’t let this go on Finch… there’s no way in hell I can continue to watch you being taken apart endlessly, I’m going to kill him.” John looked into Harold’s frightened eyes and they went wide in alarm.

“No John!” He gasped, “Please no!” Harold began to panic and struggle against his bonds. Tears spilled from his eyes as he begged John not to act. “Please… John! Wait! He...” 

John now began to panic at Harold’s sudden loss of control and the added stress to his body as he again fought uselessly against the straps, weakening more and more by the second. Trying to convince John not to kill this psychotic fiend. What did he have over Harold that would make him let it go this far? Why wouldn't Harold just let him end it all and be done with it?

“You’d better let him explain before you make too hasty a decision John,” the monster interjected confidently.

John looked down at Harold as his partner went still from total and complete exhaustion. There was nothing left in Harold’s reserves and he said only one word to him sorrowfully as his tears continued to flow. “Grace…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still more torture for the boys!

John looked down at Harold in total shock and watched as he quickly and completely passed out again. John was unable to take his eyes off of his partner’s unconscious and distressed body as it trembled and fought weakly to survive.

“Well then… what’s it going to be John?” The monster provoked him cheekily.

John looked up from Harold’s body dazedly and stared at the man but said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” he grinned. “Now then, since Mister Finch is having such a difficult time staying conscious I’m afraid it’s back to the stimulant.” 

John felt as if he were in a strange fog and continued to stare at the bastard behind the console while he kept a hand on Harold’s arm feeling the tremors of continuous trauma running through it. The man understood the difficulty John’s brain was having from the shock of knowing that he truly and utterly didn’t have a say in the matter after all. 

Not when Grace Hendricks was being threatened. Harold would move heaven and Earth to save the woman he loves and there would be nothing John could do to stop him from sacrificing himself.

“Go back and retrieve the IV stand and wheel it back over and this time we’ll only use the one bag.” The man instructed John and to his surprise he found himself obeying his command without question.

John pulled the stand next to his partner’s unconscious body and waited for further instructions. He found that he couldn’t think of anything to say, he just looked down at Harold numbly.

“Insert the needle and start the pump John but disconnect the hallucinogen first.” He laughed grimly and added, “Unless you want Mister Finch to take another terrifying journey.”

John did as he was told as if he was on auto-pilot, still reeling from the bombshell Harold had laid on him.

He connected the IV line back into the cannula attached to Harold’s hand and turned the pump on and once more he watched in dismay as the fluid trickled through the line and into Harold’s blood stream.

“Very good John; you’re learning.”

John looked down at Harold and watched as his eyelids fluttered and his brows creased right before his eyes flew open in clear distress.

Harold awoke with a sudden inhalation of breath and tried to pull against the restraints instinctively as his heart pounded thunderously in his chest.

The violent action pulled John from his emotional stupor and he put his hands on Harold’s shoulders and leaned in so Harold could see his face clearly. “Finch, breathe... slow down and breathe.” 

“That’s easy for you to say, John,” the asshole laughed, “You don’t have high potency drugs running through your system now do you?” He laughed again as he sat back and enjoyed the show.

Harold pulled air into his lungs deeply and strenuously. He felt his heart beating so rapidly and painfully in his chest he was sure his heart would burst. 

John could feel Harold’s whole body tremble and quake beneath him as he once again positioned his upper body to lay lightly across his partner's torso. Just enough to reassure him that he was there for him as the sweat rolled off of Harold’s face.

“John… I can’t… breathe,” Harold wheezed desperately.

“Shhh… slow down Finch, look in my eyes and breathe with me.” For a second John looked at the monster, for what he wasn’t sure, then looked back at his panicking partner. “Shhh…breathe for me.”

“Go ahead and turn the pump off John, I’d say he’s had enough to keep him awake for a little while… well for as long as it should take to explain some more about my table anyway,” he chuckled. “On second thought we’ll keep administering just enough to keep him from nodding out again until we’re ready for another display of the wondrous abilities my table can perform," he added proudly.

Harold was having a hard time calming his breathing as panic enveloped every ounce of his control. The biggest issue for him at the moment besides not being able to breathe normally was the feeling of constriction. 

Not having the ability to move was truly starting to have an effect on his mind and he began to feel himself spinning out of control from the compression all throughout his body. If he weren’t able to move very soon he was sure he would die.

John watched Harold’s pupils enlarge and knew what was happening from the signs. He’d seen it happen before and he watched with empathy the fear and panic engulf every inch of his partner’s countenance in an instance.

“I have… to… go…” Harold panted, “I have to… get up… please.” He begged and struggled as much as he could in his exhausted state while sweat dripped down his face and neck to mingle with the dried blood of his clothing. His body was trapped… he couldn’t move and the claustrophobia that had enveloped his body and mind was in overdrive. Once again he began to hyperventilate.

“Please just let him up until he can breathe freely again!” John pleaded with the pitiless bastard. “Please!” He implored again.

“Nope, sorry,” was the cold reply. “If you can calm him down and talk him through it John, it would make you the hero of the day,” he replied sarcastically and laughed. 

There was nothing John could do, his hands were tied and he had never felt more useless in his life.

“Oh, by the way, Miss Hendricks is a very lovely woman Mister Finch, I’ve been monitoring her all evening. I do hope she accepts that position she’s been offered.” The sick bastard sat back and watched his goading do its work in great delight at the horrified reaction Harold exhibited.

Harold now began to sob brokenly in between trying to catch his breath and tears spilled from his eyes now from more than just his inability to breathe and not being able to move. 

He couldn’t stop thinking of his beautiful love being watched and threatened with no one there to help her if she needed it.

John was dying to kill the bastard now more than ever as he did his best to soothe his inconsolable partner.

“Harold don’t listen to him, he’s just trying to upset you. Grace is fine, and she’s going to remain fine.” John spoke as calmly as he could but felt as if he himself was about to break from the stress. 

“Please…!” Harold sobbed “Please don’t…”

“Finch if you’ve never trusted me before... you have to trust me now, Grace is safe!” John held Harold’s face firmly with both hands to look him in the eye and to put a stop to his moving his head and adding to the re-injury of his neck.

“Now breathe with me, Finch,” John ordered evenly. “Look at me and breathe slowly.”

The stimulant in his blood system was a hurdle that Harold could not overcome. He tried to focus on John’s words of reassurance and tried to concentrate on his directions.

He looked into John’s eyes just as he was told to do and tried to match John’s breathing but his heartbeat was pounding in his chest and in his ears so hard it was impossible to slow down his panic from everything that was happening to his mind and respiration.

Harold began to feel out of body. He felt as if his consciousness was spinning around him while the pain was concentrated in his body. He couldn’t maintain eye contact as hard as he tried, it was no use.

“I think you can turn the pump off, for now, John,” the monster interjected. “I think he’ll be awake for a little while now with what’s been pumped into his system. I don’t want to lose him before he experiences the best my table has to offer.”

John immediately turned the pump off but Harold would be feeling the effects for what would seem an eternity while the stimulant took its time diluting through his blood stream.

“John…” Harold gasped weakly.

“I’m here Finch.” John took Harold’s hand in his own as it lay strapped and immobilized. He gently squeezed the cold appendage. He leaned in close and looked into his partner’s blood-shot eyes.

“Is she… safe…?” He asked almost deliriously.

John smiled at him sadly. “I promise Finch… she’s safe.”

“You’re… sure…?” He asked again in earnest as breathing started to come a little easier.

“I’m sure Harold.” John hated to promise him something that he really wasn’t sure of but what else could he do? 

As hard as it was to witness the suffering Harold was going through... he tried to convince himself there had to be some way out of this impossible situation.

“Alright gentlemen, we’ll give Mister Finch another five minutes to calm down before I show you one of my table’s most impressive abilities.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains blood... a lot of blood! You have been warned!

The look of panic was slowly receding now that John had reassured him that Grace was alright and Harold grew to accept the fact that his plight was far from over. He could only hope that whatever torture came next would be enough to put an end to his suffering. More importantly, the end of John’s mental anguish.

John looked down and made eye contact with Harold as he continued to try and get his heart rate to slow down. 

Finch tried to make it clear in his expression how grateful he was to John in every respect. He forced a smile up to the man that had been his employee first and then his partner and ultimately had become his best friend and touchstone in the life they had come to know together.

“John I’m going to ask you to step away from the table again for this next part.” The man instructed him eagerly; ready to move on to what he considered the most impressive function his table was capable of.

John looked at the man morosely, afraid of what was coming.

“Now John. I won’t tell you again,” he stated impatiently

“Do as he says, John.” Harold encouraged his partner. “Please…”

As John turned to go back to the wall, he squeezed Harold’s hand in a show of silent submission to Harold’s wishes. He pulled the IV stand with him to the wall and then turned back towards the room and waited.

Harold thought he was ready for whatever the villain had in mind but knew just how impossible it must be for John. 

He teared up at the knowledge of what it must be doing to his protector... to have to witness this travesty while he was forbidden to fulfill his self-prescribed duty.

“Here we go…” The man flipped a switch on the console and the table began to hum. “This is going to blow your minds, my friends.” He leaned over and appeared to be dialing or turning something on the control panel.

“Oh wait! My goodness, I almost forgot. That would have been catastrophic.” John’s blood pressure was on the rise as the man stood up straight and ordered him back to the table.

“You’ll need to secure Mister Finch’s head, John.” John looked at him anxiously, “You’ll find the straps just below the headrest.”

John walked back over and leaned down and found what the bastard was talking about. “Be sure to get a good tight fit; we can’t have him die from his neck snapping during the demonstration,” he grinned at John wickedly.

John looked at him in disbelief and then down at Harold who was still trying to manage his breathing. 

“Finch…” John started but Harold cut him off... 

“Do it, John,” he ordered stoically.

John begrudgingly followed Harold’s command and pulled the two ends of the Velcro strap up and over Harold’s forehead, effectively now pinning his head to the table.

“Thank you, John,” Harold whispered wearily. “I’m sorry…”

John turned away and went back to the wall, gritting his teeth painfully.

“Good… now we can begin!” The asshole exclaimed enthusiastically.

The table began to rise a few feet in the air and then began to tilt upright.

John watched in fear as Harold’s hands clenched tight-fisted in anticipation.

The table came to a stop completely vertically with a jolt that sent a sharp stab of agony straight through Harold’s spine and elicited a pained gasp from him. 

It then moved to pull every section that held Harold’s limbs, which had been outstretched slightly and independent of one another... together as if he were essentially standing upright… only he was elevated above the floor. 

Harold held his breath and sweat trickled down his face as the movement re-positioned his injured lower back and hip painfully from its previous alignment.

Now with only a small gap between his legs and feet and his arms restrained and lying almost directly on either side his torso he was suspended and presumably ready for the next step of the madman’s agenda. 

“And so it begins…” The fiend stated with delight.

John watched fixedly and with a tremendous amount of self-control as the table then began to move in a circular motion on the pivoting stand that was the main support for the terrible device.

He watched Harold’s face for any signs of permission to end what was going to happen but as he feared he found none.

The table began to turn slowly on its axis and John saw Harold clench his jaw tightly and close his eyes.

“See not so bad right now.” The asshole remarked. “John, you’ll want to go to the cabinet next to the refrigerator and get yourself a hazmat suit. It’s going to get extremely messy very soon.”

John couldn’t imagine what that instruction could mean but he did as he was told and walked over and pulled the protective garment out and put it on, all the while dreading what the indications might be signifying.

He walked over to his previous spot and looked at the bastard as he himself was finishing with his own suit that he had at the ready.

The table was still rotating slowly and John could see the expression of discomfort clearly written on his partner’s face as his complexion turned a whiter shade of pale. 

Next, the heinous man threw a drop cloth around the console, shielding it for what was to come.

The fear in John’s heart was now amped up to a level that he had never felt before as the situation finally dawned on him.

“Hold on tight Mister Finch!” The man shouted to his captive, “It’s about to get real…”

To John’s complete and unimagined horror, the table began to rotate faster and faster until blood began to spray from some unseen location on Harold’s body as it picked up speed. 

The grotesque splatter of crimson red began from Harold’s head and extended out to paint a gory and vivid array of red streaks across the floor. The surreal abstract circular pattern of gore around the table and outward in all directions was horrifying to see.

John was momentarily transfixed at the horrid spectacle of bloodshed while Harold never made a sound.

Not until the hot blood spray came into contact with John’s exposed hand did his brain catch up and comprehend what was really happening.

John was shocked from his stupefaction and screamed at the top of his lungs in horror, “Stop! Please stop!” He sobbed intermittently until the table began to slow its momentum.

As it came to a stop John rushed over and looked for some type of entry wound that could have caused the sheer amount of blood that escaped his partner’s body as it spun. He couldn’t tell where it came from and looked into Harold’s blood covered face for signs of life. Harold’s eyes were closed and his breathing was quick and labored but he was still alive.

“Harold…?” John continued to scan and search his partner’s clothing but there was so much blood covering it that it was impossible to tell where it originated. “Harold please…” John swallowed down the bile that came up into the back of his throat at the shocking spectacle laid out before him.

Harold forced his eyes open and looked down at John. “Is… is it over…?” He slurred weakly. 

Tears streamed from John’s eyes as he looked over at the monster behind the console. John couldn’t answer Harold; he didn’t know if it was over or not and he got no indication from the man one way or the other. The vile bastard just grinned at him.

“It’s over, for now, Mister Finch,” he replied happily. “Wasn’t that a marvel to witness John?” The table began to lay horizontally again while all John could do was stare at all of the blood that coated his poor partner. 

Then John looked down at himself and hurriedly pulled off the offending blood streaked protective clothing and looked around the room. He was deeply disturbed by the state of their surroundings, now streaked with Harold’s blood.

“Well…?” The asshole began, “Didn’t I tell you there was something to be excited about John? Wasn’t it worth the wait?”

“Where did all this blood come from?” John asked as calmly as he could possibly manage. There was no reasoning or expectations that there would ever be and the last thing he wanted to do was provoke any more violence and bloodshed from the lunatic.

As the table came to a stop John unstrapped the restraints holding Harold’s head against the table. His hair was dripping with sticky blood and he winced when John pulled the straps away and it began to pool under his head.

“The wound is to the back of Mister Finch’s head.” The fiend answered casually. “Did you know that head wounds bleed profusely but the injury can be relatively minor?” The asshole grinned again. “Yes, of course, you knew that, didn’t you John? The length of the cut is quite considerable but the depth is just enough to allow the blood to flow freely. As you can see, it was a very impressive display.”

He went further, “So again, there will most likely be some lightheadedness from the blood loss but the long term effects are not something to be concerned about,” the asshole leaned back and added ironically, “Of course Mister Finch won’t suffer from anything long term when he’s finally dead... will he?”

John looked at Finch sadly. “I don’t know how much more I can stand to see Harold,” he choked out.

Harold smiled as best he could, “I’m so… terribly sorry.” Tears spilled down either side of Harold’s face as he tried his best to encourage his partner to get through this impossible task. “Thank you… for everything John… it shouldn't be much longer...” He said weakly.

“I’d offer to let you clean his wound up John but I don’t really think you’d be able to get to it without having to twist his neck. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s probably clotted by now so he won’t be bleeding to death,” he chuckled, “I have a different method to that end.”

Harold saw the look of hate and malevolence spark in John’s eyes at the last remark from the monster and was quick to try and deter his partner from acting upon his thoughts of murder.

“John… don’t listen,” Harold said weakly. He smiled up at John, “Your own advice.” John watched in dismay as a wave of fresh pain washed over Harold’s face and he closed his eyes as he rode it out. 

John couldn’t believe the strength and resiliency his partner was able to display even after all of the torture he’d been put through. 

There were no words to convey how much he admired and loved his partner. Now it was he that had begun to hope for a quick end for him. The suffering was enough to kill anyone and yet Finch was still alive. He was in awe of the man.

No, he thought, No! He had to figure it out; he had to come up with a solution that would be acceptable for them both. One that would allow them both to come out of this alive.

“Okay, let’s try something,” the monster began, “Something different, would you like to wash off Mister Finch?” The fiend asked enthusiastically.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not getting any easier for the boys! Tissue alert!

Harold didn’t answer the madman; he was too involved with trying to calm his breathing down.

“I think it would be nice if we washed off some of that blood John. Unless you want to get soaked... I suggest you step away from your partner.” 

John glared at the man then looked toward the ceiling to the sprinkler head that sat directly above the table. 

“I’m not moving,” John replied angrily.

“Suit yourself, now just for your peace of mind, I will turn off the electrical feature of the table just until Mister Finch is rinsed off. If you would like to assist him you’ll find a few towels in the other cabinet to the right of the refrigerator. You can wash as much of the blood off as possible and then towel him dry afterward, will that make you happy?” He asked sarcastically.

“Go John…” Harold asked him, “Don’t let yourself… get wet…” He finished weakly.

John looked at Harold in incredulity, “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if I get wet Harold.”

This actually made Harold smile; the phrase was silly and Harold chuckled for a painful moment then winced from the action.

“Please John… get away…” Harold implored him.

“I’ll give you until the count of five John then its shower away,” the asshole taunted humorously.

John looked at Harold and shook his head sadly, “Five… Four…” 

“Please walk… away John.”

John conveyed his unhappiness in his expression and turned and walked back to the wall.

“Two… One…” The water sprang from the sprinkler head and rained down on top of Harold’s prone body... soaking into his bloodied clothing and drenching his face and hair. 

Harold flinched violently, nothing could have prepared him for the temperature of the freezing water as it poured down. He couldn’t contain the harsh gasp at the intensity of it as it fell directly upon him. 

He immediately began to tremble. His whole body shivered and quaked from the assault. Each pressurized drop was like daggers biting into his sensitized exposed face, neck, feet and hands.

John watched, terrified and couldn’t help himself. He quickly took his Jacket off and left it behind and ran back to his partner only to be soaked through to the bone as well with the freezing spray raining down from above him torrentially. 

He leaned over and picked up the discarded hazmat suit and rung it out as much as he could and threw it over Harold’s body, adding an extra layer to shield him against the stinging water. He leaned his upper body above Harold’s pale face obstructing the frigid rivulets as much as he could.

Harold’s teeth chattered and his body shook and convulsed uncontrollably as hypothermia began to set into his already overtaxed system.

“I think that will suffice for now.” The monster turned off the water and watched on with sick amusement as the results played out in front of him.

“You may dry him off now if you want to John," he remarked dispassionately but then grinned as John glared at him.

He was feeling the extreme cold now himself and it pained him to know that his partner was now suffering from the cold as well as everything else he’d been put through.

John moved around the table and took Harold’s face in his hands, “I don’t know what to do, Harold,” he choked up.

Harold opened his weary and unfocused eyes and looked into John’s. “There…is… noth…ing… you… can do… John…” He stuttered feebly as his body continued to tremble and quake painfully. 

John pulled the soaking wet hazmat suit off of him and ran to the cabinet, pulling every towel he found out and grabbed his suit jacket and went back over to Harold.

John began at Harold’s face, wiping it gently but thoroughly. He took one of the towels and ran it through Harold’s hair, trying to pull as much moisture from the top and side as he could without jostling his neck too much. 

The moisture under Harold’s head was turning pink as the incision to the back of his head seeped from the wound to mingle with the water that remained in his hair.

John gently lifted his partner’s head and placed the mostly wet material underneath. Harold gasped and winced in pain from the cut and his stressed vertebrae as John gingerly guided the cloth beneath it while his body continued to shiver.

“I’m sorry Harold…” John explained as he continued to try and dry him off.

Every touch to Harold’s body made him want to cry out in agony but he bit back what he could as John continued his task. 

His body felt as if were made of ice and every cell of his skin was a raw nerve of pain. John pulled his own shirt off and quickly dried his upper body off then put his suit jacket back on to warm it up from his body heat then went back and maintained the quick pace he had set himself to.

John released Harold’s tie and pulled it from around his neck carefully. He unbuttoned what he had access to on Harold’s waistcoat and his shirt. He ripped them both open, buttons flying across the room as he pulled it away from either side of his body beneath the Velcro straps that remained across his torso. Harold’s saturated undershirt was all that remained hiding the freezing pallid skin beneath. 

Harold shivered relentlessly and to John’s horror, his lips were beginning to turn blue. His eyes had closed and between the gasps for air, a sob of torment escaped from his mouth.

“Jesus Christ!” John glared at the monster who was quietly enjoying the scene.

John clamped his mouth shut and continued his mission. He hurried to dry Harold’s hands and when he got to his feet he dried and then wrapped one of the towels around them. He came back around the table and pulled off his jacket that had now been warmed by his body’s efforts and he pressed it snugly around Harold’s upper body.

There was no conscious response indicating that Harold even knew that he was there.

John knew that this could very well be the last thing that it would take to kill his valiant and courageous partner. 

“Harold…? Please open your eyes for me.” John was filled with dread when he could get no response from him as he lay there trembling violently. “Please Finch…” He sobbed quietly and took one of Harold’s hands in both of his. He enveloped the smaller man’s hand and leaned down and put his lips to it and breathed warm air from his lungs around it in an effort to warm the frigid limb.

Harold still made no indication that he was conscious but the sounds of distress were becoming less frequent and quieter and his body began to calm down it's shivering. John had hope. For a fleeting moment, he had hope that he had been able to aid in his recovery from the brutal onslaught of the cold. 

His hope was shattered when the table began to hum once more and before he knew what was happening... Harold’s body stiffened and went lax as the monster had enacted his favorite go-to means of torture.

But this time Harold didn’t open his eyes and his body was completely still. John looked on in absolute horror as once again his body went rigid then immediately went limp. Harold wasn’t breathing. John was immobilized for an instant in fear.

“Oh dear…” The fiend remarked coldly. “You may have to perform CPR John.”

John jumped into action, he had to get his partner breathing again. He started CPR on his own; taking the necessary steps needed for success while the monster watched on unaffected. 

He was as careful as he could possibly be with Harold’s neck; the stressed pins in his spinal column were a hindrance to his airway but John couldn’t worry about that at the moment. 

He tilted Harold’s head back as much as he could safely and began, alternating between chest compressions and breathing into his mouth. The only thing he felt the least bit fortunate about as he continued, was that the straps that bound Harold to the table were not blocking where he needed to apply pressure to his chest.

“Keep going John, you can do it!” The man goaded him.

John had tuned him out and was more focused than he’d ever been in his life as he worked tirelessly for what felt like hours until he finally got a response from his partner. 

He felt tension beneath his hands and he stepped back and breathed heavily as he watched Harold stir. Relief spread over him in a wave of emotion and he quietly sobbed as he watched his partner come back to life.

Harold came around sluggishly and confused as he finally pulled air into his lungs on his own.

Then the pain hit hard and he cried out in agony. His body again began to tremble from not only the coldness that had seeped into his bones but the anguish of frayed nerves and ligaments in his neck and further down his lower back into his hip joint.

For a moment John felt terrible for not letting Harold rest in peace but the overwhelming need to have him in his life won out and he wouldn’t have been able to go on if he had lost him.

“Harold!” John leaned over him and Harold squinted up at him as tears fell to land on Harold’s cheek.

“It’sss cold… John,” he answered painfully.

John covered Harold’s groin area and legs over with what towels were left that weren’t soaked through. He then ran his hands over and around the suit jacket that lay over him in an effort to warm him up through friction grinning at him all the while. Harold was alive... that was all that mattered. 

John had made a decision then. He would most likely lose the friendship and the trust of the man that has come to mean so much to him but his mind was made up. 

As soon as a seemingly innocent opportunity presented itself... he was going to get a look at the console and see what drew this lunatic’s attention so much.

John was beginning to suspect that this bastard was fabricating the whole story of having an employer. Just a feeling that was nagging at the back of his mind but he’d always been especially proud of his instincts. 

He wanted proof but he had to play his cards right just in case he was wrong. Harold would never forgive him if his actions put anyone else’s life on the line, most of all Grace.

He was just about finished standing by on the sidelines and letting this madman dictate everything that happened in this room without resistance. He would, at some point, very soon... take control. 

The worst part about his plan was knowing that Harold would oppose it. If he could figure a way of convincing him that it was the best thing to do he would be ecstatic. If not, he would have to resolve himself to walk away from the only man that he had allowed himself to feel such deep affection and admiration for in his entire life. 

But at least Harold would be alive to hate him. John could live with that.

“John…” Harold pulled John back into the present as tears fell from his eyes unbeknownst to himself.

As painful as it was… and as Harold shivered he was still able to smile faintly at John. “I’m… here.”

John leaned down and cupped Harold’s face in his warm hands and looked deeply into his weary eyes. “Yeah Finch, and you’re not going anywhere.” John brought his hands to his mouth and blew warm air through them and put them back to his partner’s face and continued the action until he almost had an acceptable color back into it.

“I hate to interrupt this display of brotherly love gentlemen but there is more on the docket still to come.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a relatively short chapter but I figured it was better than nothing. I've been a little busy as of late. Thanks everyone for all the feedback! I hope you all continue to enjoy!

“Tell me…” John interjected as he continued to do what he could to warm Harold up, “Who are you working for?” John wanted to test the waters and see how much intel he could gather but would pull back immediately if the man perceived his questions as being too assertive.

“That’s really not important John. Honestly, what difference does it make?” The asshole replied indignantly.

John looked at his trembling partner as he rubbed his feet vigorously between the palms of his hands to warm them, “What did he tell you, Finch?”

“John please…” Harold replied wearily.

“I’d listen to him, John. I really don’t feel like sharing right now and I have already proven to Mister Finch that I have information that should encourage your cooperation. That should be enough.”

John could feel it in the air; he’d hit a nerve but was hesitant to act on it right now. He couldn’t predict when Harold would be punished for the slightest infraction. He had to keep the monster on an even keel. 

But there was one question that he wanted to know above all else so he took the chance and prayed it didn’t send the lunatic over the edge.

“If you could just tell me one thing…?” John asked as mildly as he could and gaged his captive’s mood at his compliant inquiry… he got the impression that it might be allowed without aggression so he continued. “Why is it so important that Harold be the one to endure the pain? Why didn’t your employer want me on your beloved table instead?”

He felt it would be alright to proceed further so he went on, “Why would they want to see a man who has never hurt another soul in his life... be brutalized and tortured… as opposed to someone like me who has done unspeakable things and who rightfully deserves to suffer?”

“John... don’t…” Harold spoke up quietly. He was still trembling but finally beginning to feel a little less chilled thanks to John continuously applying his own body heat from his warm hands to different parts of his exposed skin. 

Harold’s own frame of mind was still slightly skewed at the moment, to say the least. The pain receptor’s running through his abused body were working overtime. The anguish was hard to think clearly through but he was aware enough to know how unstable this man was... he feared the wrong words spoken to him would be met without hesitation in some cruel way. 

He wasn’t concerned so much for himself but the insane man had other people’s lives in his reach and he had Grace under surveillance. That above all else was what he was most frightened of.

John’s questions got another devious grin from the man. He was relieved that the questions didn’t seem to piss the lunatic off… they actually seemed to amuse him but still, the expression of insane delight on the man’s face made him feel uneasy.

“That actually didn’t take much thought at all.” He sat back comfortably; he was going to enjoy taking his time spelling it out to John. 

“The decision was based on the knowledge that you have had experience with physical torture a great deal in your past and would most likely have endured a momentous amount of pain with relative ease.” He wrapped his hands around his head and sat further back in the chair and looked at John intently. 

“So you see, by having Mister Finch on the table and you having to be the one standing by and observing the torture of your very good friend and partner... in essence... letting him die while you are forced to watch... is a far worse punishment for you than pain or even death.” 

He sat forward in the chair and looked at John hard, “That’s the reason you’re going to be able to leave this place alive. You’re going to walk out of here and you’ll have to live with the fact that you couldn’t do a damn thing but witness your partner being tortured and suffering endlessly until he is finally and utterly dead… right in front of your eyes.” The monster’s face lit up in sick satisfaction and finished, “That John… is the greatest punishment that could ever have been dreamed up for you.”

John was rendered speechless as the painful truth sunk in and the reality of the madman's reasoning made John want to throw up. 

John was chosen to have to watch Finch die in the most painful and tortuous ways imaginable as his punishment because the bastard knew that by letting him live while Harold had to die was a far worse for him than having to die himself. 

To be forced to stand by and do nothing but watch as Harold was taken apart slowly, inch by torturous inch, is and would be too much for him to bear… the fiend knew Harold was John’s Achilles heel. 

The monster watched John’s expressions transform into confusion first and then terror and finally defeat and it thrilled the sick man to no end.

 

“Please John…” Harold spoke up weakly, “Don't let him destroy you.” Harold encouraged him as earnestly as he could manage. “Please… do as I ask… you are stronger than any man… I’ve ever known.” 

Harold took a deep unsteady breath and pleaded with him further. “Please take up the mantle John… please do it for me.” Harold looked beseechingly at his distressed partner and used what strength he had left, “For me, John, I beg you…” Harold was exhausted from speaking the little bit he had. With the trauma his body and mind were suffering through he was exhausted and he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

John looked at Harold with deep regret and heartache. He couldn’t think straight with the cold hard truth the animal had just laid out and dropped on him. 

The lunatic had predicted accurately exactly what to do to John to garner the desired outcome for his sick, twisted gratification and John’s mind tormented him profoundly with guilt. 

He looked down at Harold laying there so stoically, restrained heavily, with continuous tremors of endless pain running through his entire body… but still resigned to accept everything thrown at him. 

Harold had accepted everything without a thought or concern for himself and hadn’t even considered for one instance that he could allow himself the option to live.

John felt hot tears running down his cheeks. Then the animal spoke again.

“What I didn’t expect was just how resilient your partner is. Most people would likely already be dead having been through what he has... but Mister Finch is an exception it seems in every regard… For that, I’m honestly a little disheartened to have to kill such an impressive man.” He stood up and looked at Harold. “But I have a job to do, so as the saying goes, the show must go on…”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poor boys!

John was still reeling from the cruel taunting of the heartless lunatic and the passionate pleading from his partner until the man made a move... drawing John’s attention back to him. He walked toward one end of the console and paused to look across the room and into John's eyes. 

John waited in fear for the man to say something. He could think of nothing himself to say as his thoughts were still a jumble. 

The silence was deafening as the second’s ticked by at a snail’s pace. Then the monster finally spoke and gradually made an offer that sent dread and horror through John once again.

“Gentlemen… because I have the utmost respect for Mister Finch’s tenacity and bravery… not to mention conviction, loyalty, and strength…” He paused again for dramatic effect in another moment he turned to look at John full on. 

He grinned as he noted the far off look still remaining in John’s expression as he tried to somehow process what had been revealed to him in the past few minutes. 

“Pay attention, John!” The man raised his voice and slapped his hands together; rousing John from his emotional stupor. 

Harold watched his partner with great concern.

John had gone still, clearly deep in his own thoughts. Harold had never seen his partner so out of sorts and he was frightened for his state of mind. 

John looked at the insane man in alarm. “Do I have your full attention now?” The bastard chided him. 

He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

“Good. Now as you both know intimately,” He grinned his trademark infuriating grin that John wanted to permanently wipe off his face, “And as I had started to explain a moment ago, I have the ability to either continue to make Mister Finch suffer for as long as he draws breath and has an ounce of strength left in his body… which who can really predict at this point just how long that could take?” He chuckled in amusement then continued.

“Or… door number two.” He paused again and turned to take in Harold’s pain filled countenance, “I can end it quickly.” The monster let the offer hang in the air like a ticking time bomb and then added, “I’m going to let you decide, John.” The monster was excited for an answer but would also be taking great pleasure in the anticipation of John’s response.

Harold closed his eyes in despair. He knew that it would be unbearable for John either way. It was an impossible choice that was being asked of him. John didn’t speak up immediately and the quiet stillness of the room could be felt tangibly.

Harold broke the silence. “Please don’t… put that on him.” Harold pleaded as assertively as he could, “Let me choose.”

“No, I’m sorry Mister Finch, it’s the rules,” he chuckled.

“Now then… I’m asking you again,” he remarked impatiently. “How should we proceed from this point, John?” The madman pressed. 

“Mister Reese… what is your decision!?” The monster prodded John again cruelly and Harold forced his tired eyes open and met his partner’s woeful expression of grief. 

“My God, Harold, what do I do…?”

Above every iota of physical pain Harold was enduring, the pain that tormented him the most was watching John struggle with the dreadful decision that the fiend tried to put upon him.

Harold felt a pang in his heart at the sight. “Let it be John.” He didn’t want John to be tormented for the rest of his life over a decision he was forced into where there was nothing to be gained for him but guilt and sorrow.

“I said that John was the one to make the decision, Mister Finch!” The madman became incensed and shouted angrily and then activated another switch on the console. “I see the perfect opportunity to unveil another of my table’s features, enjoy it!” He shouted furiously.

They had yet to see the lunatic lose control until now and to John and Harold’s mutual astonishment and fear... the table again began to hum and the individual sections that held each of Harold’s restrained arms and legs began to slowly spread outward.

Harold could already feel his skeletal structure being pulled farther apart than its restricted movement normally allowed. The lack of mobility since the debilitating injuries from the ferry bombing extended throughout the majority of his body. He instantly broke out into a sweat as his limbs were slowly expanding away from his torso.

John’s eyes went wide in confusion as to what he should do as he watched in dismay, the distortion of pain beginning to be revealed in Harold’s face. 

“This, Mister Finch, is going to hurt,” the villain laughed.

John’s head was spinning, he had no idea what to do and then Harold spoke to him.

“John… close your eyes… tune yourself out,” he gasped wearily. “I know they trained you... how to distance yourself… please, John.” 

Harold wanted John to apply his CIA training to help himself through what he could of the torture as it was being applied to him. He would do his utmost to prevent the cries of agony that were forthcoming but knew it would be impossible to silence them all. Regardless though... John would blame himself for everything like it or not and that was its own added torture for them both.

John tore himself away from his partner and tried to do as he was asked. He silently prayed that Harold would live long enough for him to be able to think clearly enough again to get them the hell out of there without someone else having to pay the price.

“I’d be very interested to see if that actually works for him, Mister Finch.” The monster chuckled, “I know it wouldn’t work for me if I was forced to be in the same room with someone that I loved being taken apart so unbearably painfully and not act to save them.” He again chuckled and took another stab at John, "If I were in his place I would have already gotten you to safety without all the agony you've had to endure."

As much as Harold wanted to comfort John and to promise him that there was absolutely nothing he could do to save him, he couldn’t concern himself with the animal’s attempts at distraction; it was all he could do to bite back the sobs of agony that threatened to escape his lips. John was away towards the wall with his back turned away from him. Harold was thankful that his partner was trying to abide his wishes and at least attempting to remove himself from from what was happening in the room.

Harold’s left hip joint and his lower back and torso near the tailbone was the first agonizing thing that he had to endure. The immense pressure he felt at the same time as a stabbing sensation inside his groin area was excruciating. He felt as if his leg was being pulled away from the socket. 

He had felt it and then immediately heard it pop and pain lanced through his bones sickeningly. Somehow though, he was able to stifle the agonizing scream that wanted to unleash itself and he felt sweat trickling down the sides of his face and neck like an open faucet. He was becoming so weak he didn't know how he was still conscious let alone still alive.

Next, it was his lower back. The pain there was sharp and stabbing and he felt himself now losing his grip on consciousness as the agony spiked and the seconds dragged on and on. Yet, he was somehow still able to remain relatively quiet through the torment. 

As the table continued to pull his limbs outward from his body, he was on the very edge of passing out. 

His fingernails had dug into the palms of his hands as he had unwittingly clenched his fists so hard he could feel the wet stickiness of blood on his fingers. The table progressed even wider so that Harold’s limbs were now splayed almost as wide as it would take to make an angel in the snow. 

He began to see halo's of white illuminating behind his eyelids and the sounds in the room were becoming muffled. 

He thought he could hear a voice weak and distant, just on the realm of consciousness telling him to hang on. He listened harder through the murky ether of his reality and heard the voice become closer and stronger. 

He recognized it now and he could almost see the face behind the much loved and missed voice. Nathan was telling him to hang in there.

“I’ll try Nathan…” Harold whispered. He smiled then sank into oblivion.

“A tad bit more, I think, John and your partner will surely pass out from the pain. I’m sure you know what we’ll have to then of course?” The monster grinned when John turned to look at him in loathing. “Oh, I guess we don’t have to wait after all.” The monster observed happily.

John looked over at Harold’s unconscious body and went back to his partner’s side and took his hand. 

He leaned in, “Hang in there, Harold,” he whispered with tears in his eyes.

He was disgusted with himself. He’d let his emotions get the better of him and the result was almost too much to bear. This was going to stop and John was going to be the one to end it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get a taste of the villain's background... HINT - It's not pretty!
> 
> Plus a little bit more Finch whump thrown in for good measure!
> 
> And the table of course!!!!

“I know how you feel John,” The monster remarked. John tried to ignore him.

“No really, I mean it. You see, when I was a boy, I was forced to watch as my father slowly and methodically terrorized and tortured many people… men, women and the occasional child. They were put to death right in front of me and my brother as we were each restrained to a chair.”

“Then how could you do that to anyone else?” John asked in shock and abhorrence.

“What they say is absolutely true John. What doesn’t kill you... does make you stronger.” He sat down behind the console and continued. “We had witnessed dozens of murders right under our own roof over a period of a few short years and neither one of us could do anything about it.” The monster paused in thought for a moment. 

John listened in revulsion but wanted him to keep talking. Anything to distract him from adding more pain on his poor partner was welcomed... even sick memories from the evil man’s childhood. 

John kept vigil over Harold as his body quaked periodically from the stress of the awkward alignment of his limbs as the fiend continued.

“The strangest part of it all was after a certain point we didn’t mind seeing these people put to death… my brother and I.” He grinned as if he had a sudden pleasant memory come to mind.

“I believe our thought processes had altered themselves after seeing so much pain and bloodshed. It’s like we became immune to it all.” He sat back in the chair and went on; either to unburden himself or for shock value, John had no idea but he didn’t care either way. 

The man was a homicidal lunatic now and had most likely been that way most of his entire life it appeared.

“I think that’s when it started for me. I can’t speak for my brother but it was most likely right around the same time for him as well. My father was an evil man, there was no doubt about that and he deserved to die in the horrible way he did.” The man’s expression grew thoughtful for a moment, “He routinely brought women home and made my mother participate in systematically torturing and raping them and then forced my brother and I to dispose of the “evidence.” 

The fiend paused and watched John’s face for any signs of emotion but John had gathered his wits back about him and schooled his reaction. “And by evidence, I mean the bodies, John.”

When he still got no emotional response, the animal continued while John held his hand above Harold’s heart. He needed the touch to hold him to the present and reassure himself that Harold was still with him.

“He was in the strong-arm and laundering business for a prominent gang and got greedy and let’s just say… he was sloppy and tried to steal from the wrong people.” The bastard actually laughed at that last statement. “And that’s when things really got interesting.”

John couldn’t care less what had pushed this lunatic over the edge but as long as he was talking... he wasn’t torturing Harold so he encouraged the confessions that the fiend seemed so eager to share.

“How old were you?” John asked, feigning interest.

“Let me think, yes, I was nine and my brother was twelve.” He actually smiled in what John could only describe as affection at the mention of his brother. “He actually went far in his chosen profession… until recently that is.” The smile fell from his features.

“My brother has always been someone I looked up to. I have nothing but love and admiration for him. He is the only other living soul I care anything about, John.” The man then looked at John with deep hatred and bitterness. “He was a master in his former line of work… until someone put an end to his most recent endeavors.”

John felt the animal’s demeanor change immediately.

John didn’t even have time to process what was happening before the bastard leaned in towards the console and flipped a switch. Harold’s body went rigid and then lax again as he was shocked brutally until he came back to consciousness.

Harold gasped and sobbed weakly in immense pain from the unnatural position his body was still being held in. He peered around the room and screamed at the top of his lungs as for a second time he was shocked back into full and agonizing awareness.

“Please stop!” John begged the animal and to his surprise, the man stopped and sat back in his chair to watch the proceedings unaffected by what he was witnessing.

“Harold! I’m here, it’s me.” John leaned above his partner so he could see him better. 

John wanted to cry but he was determined not to let his partner see him lose it again. He was determined to have strength enough for both of them if that’s what it took.

Harold could do nothing but whimper and endure. Speech was an impossibility now with his body using every bit of strength it had to keep him alive.

“Here, let’s make your partner a little bit more comfortable for the time being.” The man flipped another switch and the table began to shift back into its prior position.

Harold wept openly as every tiny movement now caused an extreme amount of suffering.

John pushed Harold’s sweat drenched hair away from his forehead and tried to sooth him. “Shhh, it’s going to be okay Finch, shhh.” 

The table once again stopped with Harold’s body lying prone… his limbs were now resting in a more natural position but John didn’t dare think that either one of them could relax for a second in the presence of this lunatic.

“I’m happy to see you back with us Mister Finch,” the man said casually and stood up. “I thought for a moment that I was going to have taken another more imaginative approach to reviving you."

John looked down at his partner’s face and could tell by the look in Harold’s eyes that he was ready to give up. His body was very close to giving out on him. If John didn’t get them out of there soon... Harold would surely die in this obscene, blood streaked room of horror. John couldn’t bear the thought of losing him this way.

Harold looked into John’s eyes as his body shook with tremors of pain and he did his best to offer a sign of hope to his partner. 

He smiled up at him as best as he was able and weakly squeezed John’s hand that had never left Harold’s even slightly. 

Harold was dying; he knew it was only a matter of a few short minutes before he would close his eyes for the last time. He was okay with that but he knew John would never be okay with it. 

There were no words spoken between them but the emotions of love and admiration they felt for each other flowed through the meeting of their eyes. Harold could only pray that John would fulfill his wishes and continue to save lives on his own.

“Will you…?” Harold rasped through his raw esophagus. He found it almost impossible to speak with all the screaming he had done through the latest dose of agony. John picked up the water bottle and brought it over to ease Harold’s dry mouth and throat.

“Hold on there, John… let me help a little bit.” The fiend raised the table into a more upright position to make it easier for Harold to swallow without choking.

Neither of them offered a word of acknowledgment or thanks to the monster as John brought the water to Harold’s lips and supported his head with his other hand while he tried to drink.

Harold swallowed painfully and after a couple of small sips, he had all he could ingest. He was too weak to try anymore but he had to make John understand what he wanted from him.

“Will you… save them, John… for me…?” Harold whispered weakly. 

There was almost no strength left in him to speak but he pulled from somewhere deep in his heart to plead one last time for John to continue without him. 

Harold thought that using guilt as a motivating factor was a terrible thing to do to John but if it meant that John would have to force himself to live on to fulfill Harold’s wishes... that was acceptable to him.

John knew what he was asking. Harold wanted John to live on and help the numbers without him. He also knew that Harold was close to dying and that he would be afraid for John in his absence. 

They just looked at each other for long moments. John wouldn’t lie to his partner. If Harold didn’t survive this travesty... he wasn’t sure of what he would do in the long run. 

He did know one thing right now though. He would make it his life’s mission to track this monster down and make him wish he’d never been born. After that, he didn’t think he would care whether he lived or died.

“Please… John.” Harold’s eyes filled with tears as he waited for an answer John could not offer. 

“Mister Finch, why don’t we show you and Mister Reese what more my table can do?” The animal interjected cheerfully. “You don’t have any objections do you, sir?”

The bastard didn’t wait a beat before the table began to move into an absolute vertical position.

John quickly reacted by holding Harold’s head up in a position better suited for breathing. Harold didn’t have the strength to keep it from sagging on his own anymore.

“Let him go, John,” the bastard demanded.

“Go to hell, you piece of shit!” John shot back.

Harold said nothing and his eyes fell closed. John found that he had lost consciousness again and to his absolute horror... he saw the straps that held Harold pinned to the table begin to tighten around his partner’s body.

“What the hell are you doing!?” John shouted as he watched the bindings constrict further. Harold’s respiration became shallower by the second and he still remained unconscious.

“What I’m doing is giving you an incentive John. If you do not release Mister Finch... I will constrict all of the air from his lungs. But that will only come after his ribcage and other vital skeletal bones have been crushed. It’s your choice.” John was horrified.

“I’m not going to tell you again, release him.” The bastard watched with amusement as John fought internally with himself.

John quickly made the decision to bring the straps from behind the headrest back around and fastened them against Harold’s forehead. Effectively holding his head upright so he was able to breathe unencumbered. Only then did he step away from his partner.

“I’m impressed, John.” The asshole snickered. “And as you didn’t technically break any rules and were so clever I will allow Mister Finch a short respite for now.” The madman once again grinned nauseatingly and once again John wanted to kill him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answers are revealed to questions no one has asked.

He breathed a momentary sigh of relief as the straps around Harold’s body loosened just enough that he could determine that Harold was breathing a bit more easily. 

John was grateful that Harold was unaware of what had happened to him at the moment and hoped he’d stay that way for a while.

“Have a seat, John,” the man ordered. 

John pulled the chair that was still splattered with Harold’s, now dried, blood over beside his partner and did as he was told. He took another look at his unconscious face then turned to the vile man that had now seated himself comfortably behind the console.

“I’m going to share something with you now that I think you may find interesting,” the lunatic began. 

John said nothing, he just glared at the fiend, seething underneath but outwardly expressionless, not willing to participate in whatever game the bastard had on his mind.

“You see, after four years of… shall we say... instruction... on the part of my father, my brother and I were very well educated in the fine art of the physical torture and psychological dissection of our subjects. That came to be extremely useful to us both into our adulthood.”

John was fascinated, he wouldn’t deny it, but he didn’t want the monster to have any satisfaction in knowing that he was curious as to how anyone could become so heartless and cruel to another human being while not feeling the least bit remorse or shame about it. 

John had remembered and tormented himself over every one of the people through the years that he had been ordered to “do what needed to be done” to get information from some unlucky individual. 

They told him it had to be done… that he needed to do it to protect his country. Never mind the screaming and begging he endured through the process. It was what he had been trained to do and sometimes on a rare day he almost believed it. 

There were only two of those people that he had tortured and then killed in all that time that he felt no remorse for. The rest of them would follow him and haunt him until his dying day.

He still had numerous sleepless nights and vivid nightmares to this very day over some of the things he had done in the line of duty. The faces of nameless souls pleading for him to stop hurting them. 

Every last one of those terrifying nightmares were filled with buckets of blood.

But now he was in a living nightmare and it was Finch’s blood that covered the floor and the walls and every piece of furniture in the room. All John wanted to do was to wake up and find that it was just another hellish dream.

“After our father was found out... they came for him while we were all sitting around the dinner table.” He smiled at the memory, “Mum had made dad’s favorite meal that night... steak and kidney pie.” 

The monster seemed to drift back into his past as he described every detail. Including the fact that his mother had slightly burnt the pastry crust and his father was incensed and backhanded her across the face, knocking her senseless to the floor. 

“We weren’t allowed to help her up or else he’d do the same to us so we just pretended she wasn’t laying witless beside her chair while we all continued to eat... as if it were the most natural thing in the world.”

John listened to the horrible memories of the madman but kept an eye on Harold’s condition as he was still unconscious; waiting for the next emergency in fear and trepidation. 

“You know, it’s funny John. It was that same afternoon that my brother and I first talked about how we were going to kill him. We were going to do it the next day.” He turned to John and smiled broadly, “But it turned out that we didn’t have to do it after all,” he laughed.

“Three large men made their way into the house and drug my father from the table into the living room. They tied him, kicking and screaming to a dining room chair that one of them had pulled into the room and they proceeded to beat the shit out of him first. Then when he was barely conscious, they pushed him over and stuffed his favorite meal down his throat until he choked to death.”

John was horrified and no amount of training he’d gone through could have prevented the expression from his face.

“What happened after that?” John couldn’t help himself he had to know.

“Well… what happened was that mum was taken away and never heard from again but for some reason my brother and I were left to fend for ourselves. I guess they figured that we weren’t going to make any trouble for them when we stood by and cheered them on while they killed him,” he grinned, “Of course they did give us a nice long talking to. They said that if we didn’t want our mum’s blood on our hands and if we wanted to stay alive ourselves... we better keep our mouths shut.”

The madman looked wistful for a moment before he continued. “So, that’s exactly what we did. My brother took care of us both. He was seventeen by then and he took on the role of my protector and guardian. 

"He did what he needed to do to get us by and even got me back into school where I excelled and went on to University and greater things. Including what we have here with my table. My brother went on and got himself into the intelligence field and rose up through the ranks to an astounding degree.”

“So then how in the hell do we find you here doing these obscene and cruel torturous things to an undeserving and innocent man?” John asked, baffled.

“Well John, you see, that’s why I’m doing all of this,” he remarked casually. “I’m doing it for my brother.”

John shook his head in confusion, “I don’t understand. Why would your brother want you to torture my partner to death? Who is your brother?”

The man slowly smiled in great satisfaction while he looked into John’s eyes piercingly.

John had no idea what was to come but he wasn’t ready for the cold hearted man’s reply.

“Does the name Alistair Wesley sound familiar?”

John felt the blood rush to his head and wanted to throw up. He was clearly unprepared to ever hear that name again and now it all fell into place.

“Yes well, I guess the name rings a bell after all.” The bastard observed with sick delight. “I’m doing all this in his name.”

John shook his head in disbelief. He couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. 

Alistair Wesley should be dead or at least wishing he was dead. No one should have known the whereabouts or whether he was alive or dead other than a select few people. 

John had double checked the information that Wesley had been delivered to the Iranian officials himself last year. The man should have either been killed or had done away with himself by now.

Or at least that's what he thought.

“I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you’re so surprised John,” the man gloated.

“Where is he?” John asked anxiously.

“You mean where is he at this very minute, John? I have no idea. I can tell you though that he is very much alive and well.” He looked at his watch and added with great pleasure, "I imagine he's on his way to Italy."

Harold began to come around on his own at that moment and John stood up to go to him.

“Finch!” Harold pried his eyes open and looked into John’s terrified face. 

“Harold…? Do you know what became of Alistair Wesley?” He asked uneasily.

Harold could hardly keep his eyes open and nodded in and out of consciousness.

“Finch!” John tried again, “Do you know?”

Harold looked into John’s eyes and held his gaze wearily. “I’m sorry… John,” he replied as tears spilled from his eyes.

“So I see Mister Finch didn’t share the information then. Well, how fortunate for me.”

“Harold… why?” John asked sadly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think… John.” He replied wearily, “I received his number… but I thought he would disappear… I never dreamed we… would ever hear from him again… there were people hunting him… I’m so sorry John… I didn’t think...” Harold once again fell unconscious as pain and exhaustion overtook him again.

Tears came to John’s eyes as he listened to his partner plead his case. 

Harold realized that what Wesley had already done to them was still too fresh in both of their minds and he didn’t want John to worry about him.

Harold convinced himself that someone else would dispose of the man and he didn’t want to burden John with the knowledge that Wesley’s number had come up, just as Harold had recovered from the last horrific encounter with the insane former MI6 agent.

John sat down again in stunned silence and looked into the face of the man that had become so important to him. He studied Harold’s worn and frail feature’s and felt empty. He was devastated.

“Time for more fun John!” The man stated excitedly. He stood from his chair and leaned over, tapping his lips with his forefinger in thought as he looked at the control panel, deciding what next to do with his table. “Hmmm, let’s see…”

“Bingo!” He exclaimed and flipped a switch. Then John heard the table make a sound that was new to his ears.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not getting any better for poor Finch, we'll see very soon how this all plays out.

The table began to emit a droning sound but there were no tell-tale signs of anything happening. John looked at Harold for any signs of distress but he was still deep into unconsciousness.

He looked at the console and saw the expression of anticipatory delight etched in the madman’s face as he watched Harold himself for a reaction.

“Wait for it…” The lunatic urged John with a grin plastered to his face.

John was terrified. He looked back at his partner and to his horror a few seconds later Harold’s eyelids began to flutter. 

He opened his exhausted eyes and John saw confusion in his expression first and then they seemed to indicate more pain in them until they went wide and he began to scream.

“What’s happening to him!?” John shouted over Harold’s screams of agony. He stood next to him and looked for anything that could be causing his partner such horrendous pain.

“You’ll know very soon John,” the bastard laughed.

Then John had an idea of what it was when the stench of scorched fabric and flesh filled his nostrils.

Harold’s screams turned to sobbing as he tried to catch his breath. The energy was draining from him once again but the severity of the pain from the branding device in the middle of his shoulder blades kept him conscious and in full awareness as it burned into his skin.

John could only watch on helplessly as his partner suffered in agony and sweat beaded over every exposed area of his body. 

The moisture dripped down his face and neck... streaming down his midsection to soak into what was left of his shirt and waistcoat before running to the waistline of his trousers. 

He looked at the fiend when the table and Harold quieted down. “There now, it’s done,” the man grinned.

“Nothing major, just a bit of a brand approximately the size of a baseball to his back. Though I’m sure it’s extremely painful, of course, that’s the point, it’s not something that’s going to kill him right away. I’m saving that inevitability as my piece de resistance."

John couldn’t speak without saying something that may upset the fiend and might add more pain for his partner. So he turned back to Harold in an attempt to offer comfort to him instead.

Through the weeping of agony, Harold found the strength to tell John that he was almost through. “I don’t think I’m… going to make it much longer John… I can feel it… I’m so sorry,” He gasped weakly as the pain drew the breath from him.

John closed his eyes and nodded, “I know it hurts Finch…” John choked, “I know.”

“John… just to show you that I’m not absolutely heartless... I will allow you to administer some pain relief,” the asshole offered. “Of course, if I’m honest, the relief Mister Finch would garner would also buy me some more time to prolong his suffering,” he laughed, “It’s your call; the bags of morphine are in the fridge.”

John couldn’t believe he was yet again expected to make an impossible choice. He looked at Harold who had quieted his cries of torment and was now trembling with pain, “Finch…? Tell me what you want me to do.”

John was surprised the fiend let him ask Harold what he wanted to have happen and grateful all the same when he kept quiet.

Harold trembled and shook with cruel tremors running throughout his injured body, “Relief… please, John.” Harold looked at John pleadingly.

John looked into Harold’s weary eyes and knew without a doubt what Harold was really asking for. He returned his partner’s gaze with fear and hesitancy. 

Harold wanted John to overdose him on the pain medication being offered and put an end to his suffering for good.

John was at the end of his tether as well. He had so much information to digest now knowing that Wesley was in the mix... he couldn’t think straight. He just couldn’t believe that Finch didn’t tell him his number had come up. 

John needed to think quickly and act covertly to find out for certain that their former foe was indeed free and on the loose. 

This was too important to take the word of a lunatic without knowing for sure. The feeling he had earlier had not gone away; something was off in the set-up and it was now or never to make his move if he had any hope of potentially getting Harold out alive.

“What’s it going to be John?” The madman prodded him cruelly, “Are you going to offer Mister Finch some comfort or let him spend the last moments of his life praying that it will end quickly? If it were me I think I would give him a little bit of respite before the end of his life but it’s up to you.”

Harold looked into John’s eyes and tears spilled over as he expected that John would help him die quickly and as painlessly as possible. 

He despised putting John in this predicament and if there were any other way out of this without spilling innocent people’s blood, he would will himself to fight on. 

Harold saw no way out; he had to die to save them all and most importantly Grace. He wished for it to be over… the sooner the better as he felt so much pain now he wasn’t sure if there was a place in his entire body without it.

“Please… John,” he pleaded.

“Alright, Harold.” John looked at the asshole behind the counter, “You’re going to need to lower the table so I can get the IV stand over here and get him hooked up.” He remarked as he started for the refrigerator.

“Yes good point.” John heard the table hum and watched from his periphery the table re-positioning itself back into a horizontal angle while Harold whimpered with every movement the table made.

As the madman’s line of sight was obstructed by the table and as John headed for the morphine and leaned over to look inside the refrigerator he was able to pull his phone from his pocket long enough to type two words of text to Lionel without being seen.

He typed “Wesley’s status?” before the animal had noticed and slipped his phone back into his front pocket. 

He would know soon what Lionel could find out about the man. If Wesley had escaped from the Iranian prison he would most likely have to believe the rest of this lunatics stories; if Wesley was still there or had died there then the man could very well be lying about Grace and the rest of the people he was threatening as well.

It was all up to Fusco now on how John would proceed.

For now, he would help his partner with the pain. John knew that Finch would be expecting him to give him enough so he would never wake up again but John wasn’t going to do that. There was no way he could without knowing the truth.

He pulled out a bag of morphine from the cooler and brought it over to the side of the table. He hooked the bag and looked down into his partner’s eyes.

Harold did his best with a smile and with tears of gratitude he gave his last offer of thanks to the man that he had come to love as a brother.

“Thank you… John.” He choked out, “for everything.”

“Wait!” The man stood up and yelled before John inserted the needle into the cannula attached to Harold’s hand.

“I warn you now John. If you even think about assisting Mister Finch with his death I will make sure every one of those people ends up on my table! Starting with Grace bloody Hendricks! Is that clear?”

Harold squeezed his eyes shut at the mention of her name and his body shook as he wept in despair.

John closed his eyes for a moment to reel himself in then looked at the bastard, “You said I could relieve some of his pain. That’s what I’m doing.”

The monster sat back down and replied perfectly composed, “Yes go ahead, I’m only allowing a very short reprieve so I need you to insert the needle and press the number two on the machine. This will allow him twenty minutes of relief while I make a few adjustments to the control panel to my table. I wouldn’t want Mister Finch to expire before my crowning glory, then we’re all going to have a talk about how this all ends."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our villain has another surprise for our heroes.
> 
> I'm not sure where this depressing stuff comes from but thanks to those of you who get through till the end!
> 
> Don't forget to drop a comment if you have a free moment, thanks!

“Finch… I'm,” John began as he removed the straps from around his partner’s head and attached the morphine drip into the cannula. He looked into Harold’s pain-ridden eyes. 

“It’s alright John… I understand,” Harold cut him off shakily between sobs of anguish. “It will all… be over soon.”

“Though I’m sure not soon enough for you… will it Mister Finch?” The asshole taunted. “I’m sure you would much rather be dead already but I have a list to check off and I’m sorry to have to inform you that you still have more to endure.”

John couldn’t look at the bastard in the moment. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He was filled with fear. A minute seemed like an eternity as he waited for his phone to vibrate in his pocket. He got the pump started and looked over to the console to find the man watching intently.

John couldn’t care less as he took Harold’s hand in his own and leaned into his direct field of vision. “Is it working yet?” He asked anxiously. 

Sadly knowing that what was being administered to his partner was only a very small fraction of what he would need to make him at all comfortable. 

Harold tried to show John a smile of affirmation but couldn’t manage it. He was still in agony and he too knew that it would only offer a modicum of relief; it might only barely scratch the surface of what he was experiencing... if he were lucky. 

He didn’t really see the point of it. His body trembled uncontrollably as he laid there pinned like an insect to a specimen board. 

Harold tried to concentrate on anything else but the pain that filled all of his senses but nothing could be more impossible to do right now than concentrating… the trauma he was experiencing was too much to think through. All he could do is endure and hope for it to all be over soon.

Harold hadn’t noticed that his grip had tightened vice-like around John’s large hand until he felt his partner gently prying his fingers away.

He looked up at John as he stood next to him wanting to apologize but he couldn’t speak at the moment. 

The pain was too much and he found himself grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw so tightly he thought he might break something. 

He did his best to relax his face. Then he found himself having a barrage of dark imagery traveling through his mind.

By this time the monster had drawn his attention back to his console and John put his hand on Harold’s forearm; the gesture meaning to offer support and comfort to him in the only way he could right now.

“Take it away!” Harold rasped anxiously. 

John looked down at him and didn’t understand what he was talking about. 

“Finch?” John asked confused

“Please… your hand… it hurts,” Harold replied extremely agitated. 

The asshole looked over to them, “Oh I see my formula is starting to work. Very good,” he interjected, wickedly amused with himself.

John looked back at his partner to see him begin to struggle painfully in his bonds and didn't know what in hell could be happening to him now. He saw that Harold’s pupils were enlarging as he peered around the room unfocused and seemingly unaware.

“What have you done!?” John exclaimed angrily at the lunatic.

The maniac grinned overly proud of himself. “What I’ve done, is I’ve come up with a new formula that works in tandem to… in effect, make the body much more sensitive to outside stimuli wherein the mind travels to very dark and dangerous destinations. It’s my own hallucinogen with a twist, if you will.” The lunatic was pleased beyond measure at his accomplishment. 

John was once again horrified that not only was he the one that innocently administered the “so-called” morphine... but that he was so far out of control of anything... he thought he would lose his mind.

“Relax John, it’s not going to kill him and in fact… he’s not even aware of himself right now,” he chuckled. “He’s off somewhere else. So in essence, he feels no pain at the moment apart from the straps pressing down against him and…” He took great delight in announcing, “He has no idea what’s coming next… and neither do we, I do hope we get him back whole.”

John’s blood was raging but he focused every shred of his attention on his partner; all he could do was hope that whatever Harold’s mind was playing out for him wasn’t too horrific to cause permanent damage. He knew of soldiers who were forced to be guinea pigs with new drugs the government wanted to develop. He had heard horror stories about how their minds were affected. They were never the same people after that. He quickly shut off the pump and vaguely heard the animal snicker in self-satisfaction.

Harold began to speak, “It’s close to dark John… I can only see reflections of you across the waves… I never will forget… and how would I; I was standing there for days.” Harold whispered strings of seemingly random thought from somewhere deep inside his sub consciousness. John could just barely make them out.

“Finch…?” John tried in vain. His partner was lost somewhere unattainable to him.

“But it’s been very… it’s been so hard sometimes… you know it’s right…” Harold seemed to be looking into John’s eyes but as he moved a bit to the side, Finch’s focus remained stationary, staring into the space beyond him as he continued to speak words that made no sense, “But I hope someday I’ll see you arrive… and if you could still see the moon…someday soon I’ll offer it to you.” Harold finally quieted for a moment and seemed to be in deep thought as his brows furrowed and John felt he was truly lost to him now.

He tried to clutch onto Harold’s hand like a lifeline but Harold reacted adversely to being touched again and regretfully John had to let go. He mourned the thought of losing his partner but now to lose him with Harold not being in his right mind was even more unbearable to contemplate. 

He could only silently hope and pray to a God he wasn’t sure existed that he would hear from Lionel in time to save him.

Harold rambled off more streams of nonsensical thoughts with deep emotion.

“But you’ve gone so many times before… who’s rules do you follow? If something should to happen to you… I don’t what I would do.”

“Finch… please, I’m here.” John wouldn’t give up trying to talk his partner through whatever visions he was living in his mind.

 

Harold again became slightly agitated for a moment but then his body stilled and his eyes began to close, “I can see… the tide is quickly coming in… but I can barely see out… oh, it’s moving now again…”

John had every expectation that Harold was dying right in front of his eyes and he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes. 

He looked at the frail visage in front of him and wept quietly as his partner rallied once more to ramble on more confusing strings of words as passionately as his body would allow.

Harold opened his insensible eyes and continued mumbling quietly to the ether around him, “Something came to life… and told me what I had to feel… So, I took their advice… now I’m turning on a wheel…”

John choked back the sobs that threatened to undo him as Harold continued to murmur as his eyes closed again.

“I’ll be all right… so don’t count me out… the timing has to be right… so we don’t leave any doubts.” With those last words Harold fell quiet again.

John looked at the monster behind the console and could barely contain the rage that flooded his bloodstream; he wanted desperately to hold on to his partner’s hand but held himself back for fear of another adverse reaction to his touch.

“The time is drawing near John; my final demonstration is on the horizon. You may as well say your goodbye’s now.” The monster didn’t dare grin this time as he felt the hatred seeping through the air in waves from John’s countenance.

“You sick son a bitch.” John conveyed every bit of hatred he felt into the words that came from his mouth as he glared at the unfeeling animal.

He stood fully upright and debated with himself just how exactly he would take this lunatic apart with his bare hands. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He was going to kill this monster and savor every moment of it.

“John, calm down. Mister Finch may be hallucinating right now but I assure you that he’s not quite finished yet judging by his vitals I have displayed here in front of me. He’s still fighting and the rules are that he must die.” The monster stated matter of factly. “I think there’s still time, he’s most definitely a scrapper.”

“Fuck your rules, I’m going to take you apart, you son of a bitch!” John started to move towards the bastard but stopped quickly when Harold screamed in agony.

John turned around and realized the monster had shocked Harold again as he struggled as much as he could in pain and blinked up at the ceiling in confusion.

“That’s the very last time I’m going to warn you, John. Next time he’s going to be killed outright. Besides, do you think by killing me your just going to be able to unstrap him and be off?" Then he did grin with self satisfaction. "I have news for you. If certain things aren't done a certain way before you try to remove your friend, he'll die from your efforts to release him." The bastard looked so smug it was killing John and he threw in one last taunt, "So caution yourself while you still have him alive.”

One again John felt hopelessness pour over him as he turned and slowly walked back to his partner and stood over him in grief as Harold slipped in and out of some unknown dreamscape his mind had created for him.

Just as the heartless animal began to speak again, John felt a vibration in his front pants pocket.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting down to the wire... the poor boys!

Harold was gazing bleary-eyed at the ceiling, blinking as if he was trying to clear his vision as his body continued to tremble from the trauma it had been subjected to.

It was killing John but he had to wait for the right opportunity to look at his phone without being seen. 

He looked over to the console and the asshole was watching and listening to Harold ramble off seemingly nonsense and random thoughts and he was highly entertained by it. John could hardly stand the disrespect and amusement the bastard found in the loss of Harold’s lucidity but could do nothing for the time being but bear it as best he could. 

He knew there must be something to what Harold was saying and wished desperately that he knew the context of the phrases and strings of words he was quietly speaking. 

“It never was before but now it is… so it has caught me by surprise...” Harold muttered, the volume of his voice rising and falling unpredictably as John stood over him listening carefully. “The time has moved us back beyond the door that I was trying to get in….” 

Nothing seemed to make any sense but Harold kept talking and John kept vigil and listened nervously hoping to pick something out in the words that might mean something to him. Something to connect them together again. He felt lost and unmoored without his partner being in his right mind.

“Me too John,” The Monster stated suddenly, as if he could read John’s mind, “I’d love to know what’s going on in his head right now as well.” He chuckled, “If only we could somehow actually see inside someone’s sub-conscious mind… wouldn’t that be something?” He stated enthusiastically, John didn’t acknowledge him whatsoever.

“But everything has come so clear… I don’t know where to begin.” As he murmured, the expression of pensiveness in Harold’s face tugged at John’s heart.

He needed to see what Lionel had to say but he couldn’t bear to leave his partner’s side as he laid there looking so pale and weak, covered with bloody clothing on a filthy and deadly table and seeming to be speaking to someone in an alternate reality. 

He leaned over directly above Harold’s face and looked into his eyes, desperately trying to latch on and form some link to bring him back to him... but Harold’s mind was too absorbed in where it was already focused.

“The weight of this is nothing to complain about… and what would you add up?”

John swallowed down the lump in his throat as he could plainly see the detachment in Harold’s eyes. 

His partner seemed to look right through him and continued on with whatever was happening in his mind. “It’s moving now… It’s only put together for a day… but somehow it enters your mind… it’s been very… it’s been so long…” 

There was no recognition at all to the meeting of their eyes as John stood above him. Harold’s pupils were becoming fixed and it didn’t seem possible but even further dilated than they already were. He couldn’t see any of the normal clear blue color of his irises and his breathing had become all but non-existent. 

Harold finally, weakly, stopped speaking and continued to stare above him unresponsively at the cold, stark white ceiling, the only place in the room free of his blood.

John despaired as the silence of the nonsensical lines of words stretched on and it scared the hell out him. He was nearing his own meltdown. He could feel the desperation building in him as he watched his partner seeming to be losing the battle he was in.

“What are his vitals?!” He demanded and put his hand on Harold’s forearm. There was no reaction, he squeezed gently; trying for any kind of sign that there was still hope, adverse or no. 

If he could get Harold to indicate anything outside of what he was experiencing at the moment, John would do it. The monster ignored his demand and John felt himself spinning further out of control as he watched his partner helplessly.

Harold remained still and had become silent. The only way John could even tell he was still alive at this point was the minute trembling that ran through him and the slight intake of breath he saw as his chest barely rose and fell. 

Harold’s heart tried desperately to keep pumping air into his lungs and John knew this was it. He couldn’t believe it was happening but he couldn’t deny what he was seeing right in front of him. 

He felt a painful tightening in his chest and choked up. He cleared his throat and exclaimed again, “God damn you! What are his vitals!?”

“Calm down John; he’s still breathing.” The monster replied nonchalantly. “His condition should just be transitory and unless the readings are inaccurate and I’m mistaken... he’s starting to come back around now." Harold began to stir. "See there, not really so bad and he got a little time out from his agony too. So in essence... he did get some relief after all.” The monster chuckled and shook his head in awe, “I have to say, I marvel at his strength and tenacity, I really do.”

John couldn’t believe how blasé the animal was but he could see that Harold’s respiration was picking up and felt a fraction of relief. He knew everything was far from being over but he was grateful that his partner seemed to be recovering some. 

The truth was going to be a harsh reality as soon as Harold came back to himself but it meant he still had a chance to get him out of this hell hole and safe again. 

John was dying to see what Lionel had to say and saw an opportunity when Harold began to come out of his drug induced stupor.

The groans and gasps of pain where heart-wrenching to witness as he slowly and brutally became aware of his surroundings. John glared at the heartless fiend then looked back at Harold as he became more animated. 

He needed to get to his phone… “He could use some water,” John stated and waited for a reply while never taking his eyes off his partner.

“Sure, John; how about grabbing me another one from the fridge as well.” The monster allowed. John could not and would not ever understand how anyone could be so evil and not even seem to know it.

“John…?” Harold called for him softly. 

“Yeah, Finch I’m here,” He leaned in closer and thankfully he could see Harold’s exhausted eyes looking back at his this time. He smiled as best he could at his poor partner.

Harold was slowly recognizing what was going on and as his awareness became more apparent... so did his pain. His body began to tremble again in earnest as nerve endings and muscles began to protest the abuse they had endured unrelentingly.

“It hurts John…” He whispered weakly as he could only register immense pain once again. 

John was crushed. “I know Finch, I’m so sorry.” He choked back a sob as tears welled up and spilled over, running down his face. He wiped them away quickly. “I’m going to help you with some cold water alright?” He asked him anxiously, hoping with every bit of his soul for the opportunity to get a look at his phone unnoticed by the sick fiend behind the console.

Harold didn’t reply as he was still coming back to himself and was unsure of anything at the moment but the agony building up in his entire body. John stood up straight and looked at the monster. The man grinned back then remarked, “Go ahead John I’ll even raise the table a bit to help, how’s that for good will?” John wanted to strangle him. 

Finally… this was his chance and once again he prayed that Wesley was still locked up. He had never wanted anything in his life more than to see that the man was still confirmed to be alive and hopefully suffering in Iran. At least then he might have his own bargaining chips to play with. 

John believed everything the monster had told them about Alistair being his brother and the horrific childhood they shared. He believed that this man and his sociopathic brother were two peas in a pod and had been psychologically twisted in tandem from an early age. There was no doubt in his mind about that whatsoever. 

They were freaks of nature, unfortunate siblings raised by a lunatic father but John could not excuse anything they had done. What Alistair Wesley did to Harold and who knows how many other unfortunate people was unforgiveable and he didn’t want to even contemplate what his insane brother had most likely done to others in his own life as well. 

It was enough to make his skin crawl to think about what horrors they were both capable of and had proven to be in his and Harold’s own experience.

He nodded to the lunatic to raise the table and as it began to move so did he. He walked to the refrigerator and took his opportunity while the asshole was occupied and the table had partially obstructed the view. 

He took his phone out and as he leaned in to take a bottled water out he looked at it nervously and powered up the screen. As expected, it was from Lionel and he took in a deep breath as he read the message.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More torment for the boys.

“Are you alright over there, John?” The monster had noticed that he seemed to be taking a little bit longer than he should have in retrieving two bottles of water.

John stood up and turned around and walked back to his partner. 

“I’m just fine,” he answered and tossed one of the bottles to the vile beast.

The man didn’t know what it was that seemed to have changed but he got the impression that John seemed a bit more relaxed than he was a moment ago. He must be imagining it he thought to himself.

“Finch…?” John put his hand on his partner’s shoulder and squeezed gently. It was nice to be able to touch him again without Harold becoming distressed and he was grateful for small victories. 

Harold opened his listless and exhausted eyes and looked at him vaguely. “Here drink some water,” John urged him.

“I don’t think…” He couldn’t stop the trembling that inhabited his abused body. It was a punishment in itself and he was so weak and weary from the pain... he wasn’t sure he had the strength to swallow anything. 

“Please try Harold.” John brought the bottle to his mouth and tilted it up against his dry lips. 

The monster watched on in delight and John was beyond irritated that he and Harold were the sole means of entertainment for him.

Harold winced from the movement in his neck as he intuitively tried to turn his head towards John. 

“Ahh!” He cried out suddenly as the air was pulled from his lungs from the involuntary movement, “I can’t… John…” He gasped in pain as stars clouded his vision at the intensity of the stabbing sensation at the back of his skull. 

"Please... stop." he was so tired of hurting he didn't know what to do. He couldn't think straight for the anguish he felt was never-ending.

He shut his eyes and watched a maelstrom of lights flash behind his eyelids. He could hear the rush of blood flowing heavily in his ears with each beat of his overtaxed heart as he tried to ride out the storm of agony.

John was afraid that Harold’s neck injury was once again becoming an issue. The lifesaving state of the art procedure he had received after the last nightmare of his life had done so much to improve his mobility it was almost miraculous. Now it seemed as if it had never been done and was as bad as or worse than ever.

“That’s so sad,” The bastard remarked dispassionately. “Why don’t you immobilize his head again John; that might help.”

As much as he hated to admit it the lunatic was probably right. 

“Finch, I’m going to put the strap back around your forehead, alright? It will help stabilize your neck.”

“Wait, John! Please…” Harold was still reeling and trying to cope with the current wave of agony running through his overtaxed system. It was taking its time leaving him and he could feel his blood pressure was still extremely high from the initial spike.

John watched on with empathy as Harold gasped and winced through the agony assaulting him. Harold tried to focus on nothing but breathing, trying to calm himself down as much as he could but he wasn't very successful and could feel consciousness slipping away from him. He welcomed the darkness... he wished for it to take him away from everything, he wanted death to open its arms and embrace him.

John’s mind now worked on how best to deal with the information he had gotten from Lionel.

The text had read – “Wesley’s locked up safe and secure in Iran, Sean checked on it personally, why?” John breathed a huge sigh of relief knowing that the psychotic lunatic was not torturing anyone else and wreaking havoc anywhere either.

Of course there was no way for John to answer Lionel’s question but John finally had at least that piece of information locked away to his benefit. The asshole had lied about his brother being free… so what else had he lied about? 

The madman at least knew of Grace and John had to be careful just in case he did have someone watching her. But he didn’t feel completely helpless anymore knowing that this son of a bitch didn’t have quite the same power over them now. 

The lie he’d told them about his brother being free changed everything for John’s way of thinking. It was a boost for his morale but he still had Harold’s life in his hands and for him that meant the madman had everything. 

Now if only he could get another text off to Lionel to have him check on Grace without being seen… that would be do or die, that was the deciding factor. If she was secure he would be thrilled to no end and he could take this bastard out.

John had to wait again for the chance and he hoped and prayed that Finch would be able to hold on long enough for the answer after that. It was a tremendously difficult thing for him… to have to stand by and do nothing but watch his partner being slowly and maliciously taken apart and not being able to stop it was god awful but his hands were tied. 

For a moment his mind traveled back to when Wesley had Finch under his control and almost tortured him to death. When Harold had been brutalized to within an inch of his life for hours on end and then endured months of a slow and agonizing recovery. That wasn’t even a year ago. John was sure at the time that he was going to lose him and now to see him in no less a dire and most likely a worse situation yet again ate at him like nothing else ever had.

One of the worst things about it all was knowing that it was a family member that had gotten to his partner this time and he too was systematically disassembling him as well. It was almost too much to bear. He would kick himself for a long time after this was over for not looking into Wesley’s background as far back as childhood.

But that wasn’t something they normally did so why should he have thought about it? He knew he needed to stop dwelling on it and concentrate on one thing at a time but that was hard to do knowing what he knew now. He could have potentially prevented all that was happening to Harold this time. It was a vicious circle to which there was no victory and he hated himself for it.

Harold was still fighting to calm down his breathing and blood pressure and John sensed the asshole getting bored and knew what that might mean for his partner. He tried to distract him with conversation before he did anything else to his partner.

“So why don’t you have an accent?” he asked the monster.

“Excuse me?” was the surprised but bemused reply.

“You don’t sound British, why don’t you have an accent?” John couldn’t care less but had to bide his time, he had to forestall as much added stress and strain on Harold’s compromised condition as he could if he were to have any chance of getting him out alive. 

“Well John, I would have thought you were smarter than that. I guess I gave you too much credit.” He shifted in his chair and leaned back studying him with little regard. “A lot of people lose their native speech patterns when they live in another country for a time.”

John nodded while he kept his eyes on Harold waiting for a sign that he was ready for John to support his neck and try to drink some water.

“Yes, you’re right, I hadn’t thought about that.” John replied and Harold finally opened his weary eyes and indicated he was ready.

“Alright, here we go.” John brought the straps around and stabilized Harold’s head. “Just take a little sip for now,” He brought the cold water up to Harold’s mouth and tilted the bottle against his lips. “Just let it wet the inside of your mouth.” He poured a very small amount through his lips and into his mouth.

Harold closed his eyes in concentration and did as he was told. He savored the cold liquid and let it moisten the inside of his mouth then swallowed it down his dry throat with more effort than it should have taken. He took a deep breath then let it out as slowly as he could.

“Good, now just a couple more sips.” John put it back to his partner’s lips and watched the majority of it drip down his chin and onto his exposed chest. He smiled at Harold fondly, “Try letting some of it get into your mouth.” He teased.

And he did, he really did try but all Harold could do was take a tiny bit more before he began to have muscle spasms join the ever present trembling in his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and endured as quietly as he could but he couldn’t stop the sharp intakes of breath and the agonized gasps from escaping his lips as the spasms increased in their intensity. 

Harold could feel the throb in his shoulder from the piercing entry wound with each convulsive jolt in his back and he could feel a warm tackiness now as well. The wound had begun to bleed again. He could also vividly feel the painful heat of the burn. He began to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation he found himself in yet again. If he weren’t so exhausted and pinned to the table as he was, he would be rolling on the floor in laughter.

John pulled the water bottle away and put his hand on Harold’s face, wiping some of the tears of pain away with his thumb as it became too much to bear. He watched in empathy and understanding as Harold began to chuckle and wince in agony at the same time. 

Never ending pain is what John saw when he looked at his poor suffering partner and he felt his own tears running down his cheeks. He could not bring himself to join Harold in the dry ironic response of laughter to what had been done to him. Harold’s reaction choked him up all the more and John knew that if Harold had not been laughing he would be sobbing with pain instead.

“Can’t you just let him up long enough to get some circulation back into his body?” John pleaded. He knew it was useless but he had to try. “Please just let me clean him up some and see to his wounds.”

“No, I’m sorry John… it’s the rules.” He replied amused while watching the misery being displayed.

“Harold?” John tried, “Harold please look at me.” John needed Harold to see that he was here with him. Not that there was a damn thing he could do about anything right now but he needed his partner to know that he was there for him in body and mind.

He forced open his tired eyes and looked into John’s teary ones. He quieted himself, “It’s okay John.” he answered softly and forced a smile. “It’s alright… It's all going to be fine... I promise...” Harold felt death creeping into him and was thankful for it. The pain and torment he was experiencing would all be over soon and he wouldn’t hurt anymore, he smiled as well as he could and he studied John’s beloved face for a long moment and then he closed his eyes to wait for the end.

John turned away and bit back a cry of anger and frustration. He had to get his answer quickly. Harold didn’t have much time left, he could see it in his eyes, he was resolved to give up and John knew that if he did… it would only be a very short time before his injuries and the strain on his system would take his partner from him forever.

John had to convince him somehow to hold on. He couldn’t let him give up, not before they knew for certain what was happening with Grace. It would kill him if he were to find out that everything the monster had threatened them with was all fabricated and Harold would have given up his life for a lie. He couldn’t let that happen. As much as it pained him to do it he was going to have to make Harold fight to live. He was going to have to threaten him with his own lie.

“Harold…” He waited until his partner forced his eyes open once again and looked him straight in the face. “Harold… if you don’t pull yourself through this now… if you give up… ” John swallowed hard before he continued and saw confusion written on Harold’s face. “If you die… I will not take up your cause.” 

John wanted to tear the monster apart when he chimed in, “Wow! Now that’s cold!” He gritted his teeth painfully to prevent himself from lashing out at the cruel bastard.

 

The look of confusion on Harold’s face was slowly replaced with grief and despair and John wanted to throw up as the monster clapped in pleasure at his callous threat.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poor guys! But also a ray of hope perhaps?

“John… please.” Harold couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he couldn’t believe John would say he wouldn’t carry on their crusade. They were in this together... or so he thought.

John shook his head, “No Harold… I’m sorry, I won’t do this anymore… not without you.” John was torn up inside over what he was attempting to do but he couldn’t let his partner give up. 

John had to make him want to live and this was the only thing he could think of to do. To threaten to stop helping people just might be enough to compel Harold to fight. 

“Pretty smart thinking there John. I commend your ingenuity.” The monster congratulated John while Harold looked at him in utter disbelief. “I do hope you hang in there Mister Finch. I’m enjoying our time together.” 

“John…” Harold begged again, “Please… I can’t.” Harold didn’t have the strength to plead his case. All he could do was look at John imploringly. “Please…” he was so tired of hurting; he didn’t want to live through any more continuous pain. 

The past year had been one of the most difficult of his life. He just barely made it through the ferry bombing and then the torture only a few years after. The months of agony through the recovery process of that was enough to make him want to die. 

Then there was now. He couldn’t bring himself to even consider living through more months on end of recovering all over again. The mere thought of that alone made him want to curl up and die.

“I’m set in my decision Harold, you have to live until you can’t hold out anymore. I know what you’re doing. You’re inviting death to take you and I’m sorry but I can’t let you give in.” John tried his damnedest to give off an air of indifference to piss Harold off. Only just managing to prevent himself from falling to his knees in front of his poor tormented partner and beg forgiveness for his act of coldness.

“John wants to see you suffer Mister Finch, how do you like that!” the monster chimed in. 

Again John wanted to tear the asshole apart with his bare hands. He wanted to rip out his throat, to smash his skull in; he wanted to make the bastards last moments on earth sheer and unrelenting hell.

John could hardly control himself but he had to. Regardless of what the animal was saying he had to keep himself calm until the bitter end. 

Then he would unleash himself and revel in the dissection of the lunatic. Right now he had to convince his partner that he needed to fight and live.

Harold felt a moment of fear but it was quickly replaced with anger as John stood there looking at him steadily. How could he have been so mistaken? How could John do this to him? How could he just stand there and watch as the madman did all this to him and then insinuate that it had all meant nothing by denying him his last request? 

John had to save the lives that would come after his death. He just had to. 

He couldn’t have been wrong. This was John. John wouldn’t do this to him without good cause. He wouldn’t encourage him to suffer if he didn’t hold out hope of getting him out of there alive. 

No, he was doing to him just what he would do to John if the roles were reversed. He would push John to fight to live as well until he had exhausted all available options for saving him. 

He couldn’t hold it against him. The only thing was… the outcome had to be death... and he didn’t know how much more torture he could withstand... body or mind.

They looked at each other, John could see every emotion Harold felt play out through his expressions. He saw the confusion and fear, he saw the pain and the desolation and he saw anger behind his naked blue eyes. 

Then John saw the realization of what he was trying to do... wash over Harold’s face as it dawned on him.

Harold finally saw what John was trying to do and he accepted it gracefully. John saw in Harold’s eyes his resolve to die, turn into a renewed determination to live and he let out a deep breath in relief.

“I’ll try… John.” Harold smiled at John through the pain and exhaustion and watched John’s features change from unyielding coolness into warmth at his assertion. 

John grinned at him in return. He was amazed that they could say so much to each other without a single word passing between them. He was more than grateful that Harold would ever know.

“Well, gentlemen…” The monster stood up and stretched. “As beautiful as that little exchange was I’m afraid there is much more in store for our Mister Finch.”

John closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself while Harold seemed to find a renewed vigor from somewhere deep inside. He was tired of standing by and receiving everything without a single jab of his own thrown out.

“Do your worst you pathetic psychopath.” The venom that tainted those words were enough of a shock that for a moment the lunatic didn’t know what to say or do in return.

John winced in anticipation of what was to come of Harold’s bravado but also felt a ray of hope at the fervent taunt. Harold looked into his partner’s eyes and grinned triumphantly until a jolt of electricity shot through his central nervous system brutally.

“He invited this on himself, John.” The monster sat down and watched in sick delight as John stood and could do nothing but watch his partner suffer in anguish.

“Please stop!” John begged watching in dread as Harold’s jaw clenched tightly and his body stiffened for longer than it had so far.

John turned away for a moment in horror as blood began to seep through Harold’s stiff clothing, moistening his shirt and waistcoat, making them pliable once more.

“Stop! I’m begging you please!” John tried again, close to tears.

“Well alright, since you asked so politely, I can’t refuse.” He hit the switch on the control panel and Harold’s body went lax instantly and he passed out.

John looked him over as he lay there unconscious and breathing heavily. Sweat beaded and trickled from his face and neck into the collar of his blood stained shirt. 

John saw that the majority of the blood had come from the wound in his back and his head wound was now seeping as well. 

There was nothing he could do to help. He couldn’t get to either one of them from the position in which Harold’s body was pinned to the table.

“Please! Please let me see to his wounds. I swear that he won’t get off your table, just let me unstrap one of his arms and torso so I can treat them.” John was beyond afraid for his partner now and was not above begging. He had to get a look for himself to see just how far the blades had gone into Harold’s flesh, how bad the puncture and lacerations were.

“I’ve already told you that they weren’t life threatening.” The monster was still pissed about Harold’s new attitude but decided to let John have his way this time. 

It only meant that Harold might last a bit longer and he could have some more fun torturing him and in turn torture John as well.

“Very well John.” The monster lowered the table so Harold now lay flat and did something else on the control panel. The straps that were covering Harold’s left arm and torso released. “You’ll find supplies in the cabinets above the refrigerator.”

John almost couldn’t believe that the lunatic gave in and he prayed that it wasn’t some kind of sick joke that was going to backfire. He could only hope that when Harold regained consciousness he wouldn’t provoke their adversary again.

“Thank you.” This was his chance to not only treat Harold’s wounds but to get another text off to Lionel as well.

He turned to walk to the cabinet, “Is there antiseptic?” 

“Yes, yes, everything you need.” The monster engrossed himself in something behind him and John took the chance. 

He quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket and put it between the towels he had found. He grabbed the bandages and wipes and brought them over to the table.

The monster didn’t suspect a thing as John laid everything out beside his unconscious partner, Harold’s body mass concealed most of the supplies and his phone was right there and ready for the first opportunity John might get. And the best thing about it was that bastard couldn’t see it form his vantage point.

“Finch…” John shook Harold gently by the shoulder to rouse him. He looked over at the lunatic and found him watching them with keen interest. John knew that he’d better wake Harold up or the asshole would take matters into his own hands as he had done earlier.

“Harold… wake up.” John shook him a bit firmer until he came to. 

Harold blinked up at John and had confusion clearly written on his face. He felt the cold air circulating around the newly exposed parts of his skin and he shuddered violently causing goosebumps to form all over his already trembling body.

“Is it over?” He asked hopefully but then read John’s expression of sadness and realized that although his upper body and one of his arms was now free... the rest of him was still strapped to the table.

“I’ve relented Mister Finch,” The madman interjected before John could explain. “I’m allowing John to have a small respite from his own mental anguish to clean and tend to your wounds.” He stood up and stretched out again and added, “Don’t make me sorry that I allowed it.”

Harold didn’t acknowledge the bastard. John smiled as best he could, “I’m going to help you move your arm first, let’s get some feeling back into it.” 

Harold took a deep breath and released it slowly, “Ready.”

John took his forearm and rubbed it as gently but vigorously as he could for a few seconds. Then slowly started to bend Harold’s arm at the elbow.

Harold shut his eyes and panted through the pain of blood rushing back into the stiff appendage.

“I’m sorry.” John continued to bend it to and fro until Harold opened his eyes and started to move it on his own.

“Thank you, John.” Harold looked up at his stressed partner and saw the concentration he put into his task. John looked back at him and smiled.

John kept a peripheral eye on the monster as he continued to help Harold get sensation and feeling back in his limb and waited for the chance to get his text written and sent off. “Alright now, I need to get a look at your back, do you think you can turn to the side?”

“I’m not sure… I’ll try.” He took a breath and started to roll over a bit and gasped in pain as his free hand reflexively flew to the back of his head. The vertebrae in his neck stabbed into his skull cruelly.

“I’m sorry Finch.” John winced in empathy and waited for a few seconds to let Harold breathe through the worst of it.

“Not… your fault.” Harold calmed himself and brought his hand back down to find blood on it from the laceration to his scalp. 

He flinched as he had an intense flashback from the day he awoke in a makeshift triage center after the ferry bombing. It was still the worst day of his life though he’d had quite a few that came close recently.

“Finch…?” He wiped the blood from Harold’s hand and saw the look of terror in his partner’s eyes and knew what Harold must have seen. 

He’d had his own experiences with the terrifying visions of the past haunting his waking hours and he recognized the horrified and dazed look.

“I think I need… some assistance John,” he breathed heavily.

John nodded and glanced up to see the monster was distracted with something else and took his opportunity.

He uncovered his cell phone and typed as quickly as he could. “Check on Grace... she may be in danger.”

Harold saw what he had done though he couldn’t see what John had typed. 

John looked back to see that the asshole was still busy with whatever he was doing and breathed another small sigh of relief. 

Once again it was going to all come down to Lionel. 

John had hope that Fusco would understand the implications of the text and take appropriate measures to ensure that Grace was safe without anyone knowing it. John held his breath and said a silent prayer.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harold can't keep his mouth shut much to John's chagrin.

Harold furrowed his brows at John in question. John just looked at him pointedly and shook his head. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Harold didn’t need to know what he was doing at the moment and Harold indicated that he understood.

“Here, let’s put this behind your head for now.” John put a towel in his hand and guided Harold to hold it against the wound to his scalp. “I want you to try and stabilize your head and neck while I lift you up from the table a little bit.” 

John supported his arm and lifted his shoulder as gently as he could. He raised him from the table just enough to get to his wounds so that Harold would now lay mostly on his side.

Harold held his breath and bit back cries of agony that wanted to spill from his mouth at every inch his body moved askew. 

The severity of the pain in his neck overshadowed every other thing that had been done to him up to that point. He felt light-headed and close to passing out through the movement until finally John found a position that would allow him to get a good look and access to his injuries. 

“Okay now do you think you can hold that position for a little while?” Harold acknowledged his question with an affirmative although he wasn’t really sure he actually could. 

Harold let out the breath he took slowly and breathed as deep and as steadily as he could. It was all he could do to concentrate on staying conscious as John went about uncovering his back.

“Alright, here we go,” John announced to Harold and the monster perked up to watch in delight.

“I’m ready.” The asshole interjected drolly but was ignored much to his disappointment.

John was troubled by the condition of Harold’s wounds before he ever even got a real look at them. He had to remove his partner’s clothes first and started with the waistcoat. 

The scorch marks in the fabric of both the vest and the shirt and were an ominous sign of what he was about to see. John was very nervous as he started his task. 

He took the scissors he found in the cabinet, cut through the waistcoat and pulled half of it open and draped it over Harold’s arm. He then went to work on the blood soaked shirt.

He pulled the soiled garment gingerly up from Harold’s trousers then cut up the middle and pulled it open as well to reveal Harold’s back. He clamped his jaw tight to keep his distress from spilling out with what he saw when he opened the shirt... the sight made him want to throw up.

The puncture wound was bad enough, it was about four inches long and fairly deep. It gaped open to reveal irritated and inflamed skin and muscle just below the shoulder blade. He wiped the seeping blood away with antiseptic and stinted the flow with thick padded bandages and quickly applied the tape to hold it in place. 

Harold would definitely need more than a few stitches if they made it out alive but what was far worse than that was the horrible burn between Harold’s shoulder blades.

The brander that had been applied to his skin had embedded the material of Harold’s clothing into his flesh. The monster was accurate when he said that it was about the size of a baseball and the sight of it made John furious at the same time it made his heart ache for his poor partner.

He was nauseous as he looked at the grisly burn but there was nothing he could do about it. If he tried to clean it he would just irritate the wound and make the pain more obvious. With no anesthetic available to numb the area it wouldn’t make any sense to take care of it properly only to have it be more painful than it already was. 

He couldn’t even offer Harold a pain killer. All he could do was remove what he could of the scorched fabric from the surface of the awful burn and cover the open wound with an antiseptic salve and bandage. 

John could hear the small hisses and gasps of pain Harold was trying to suppress and his heart clenched painfully in his chest with every inescapable noise he made. 

“Please hurry.” Harold was already becoming fatigued from holding his head and body up while John worked on him. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to do by the moment and he could feel the sweat trickling down his face from the effort. 

“I’m really sorry Finch.” John worked as fast as he could to clean and dress the wounds to Harold’s back. He finished with them as well as he could then began on the long gash on the back of his head. 

Harold wasn’t talking much and John knew why. There was too much pain to deal with and the constant trembling his body was subjecting him to made matters all the worse. Harold couldn’t speak because he was too focused on breathing and holding the awkward position his body was in.

“I’m almost finished.” John hurried as much as he could while being as careful as possible.

“Okay, let go of the towel I’m going to look at your head.” Harold let go and moved his hand down to stabilize his neck. John could hear the short intakes of breath his partner was taking and he worked as fast as he could to finish.

He took one of the towels and soaked it with water, “I have to try and get some of this blood out of your hair so I can see what I’m doing, alright?” John didn’t expect and answer and proceeded with the task. 

He dabbed the laceration as gently as he could but it did little to aid in the endeavor. He just couldn’t see well enough.

“I’m going to have to pour a little water over the area, Finch. I can’t see through the blood matting your hair so be ready for it.” Harold gave him a thumbs up and he continued on. He put the towel under the area to catch the water and poured it over the wound. Harold didn’t make any more sound than he was already making. The pain in his neck overshadowed everything else and he could hardly feel what John was doing.

John again felt his stomach turn at the sight of caked and coagulated blood sticking to Harold’s hair and scalp, it was horrible and made him sick. Everything was profoundly wrong about Harold being so abused and hurt and John wanted to punch something… or someone. He couldn’t allow himself to think about how much he wanted to kill the monster right now, he had to try and concentrate but it was almost impossible.

Rage was rising through him at the thought of the injustice of the situation. Harold was the last person on the planet that should have to endure what’s being done to him… he’d been put through so much more in his time than the average person would ever have been able to survive. His benevolent partner had lived through hell too much in his lifetime already and John was deeply saddened and infuriated by it all.

John glanced over at the monster to see him sitting back with his feet up enjoying the show while he ate a banana. He still couldn’t believe the indifference he was witnessing. He couldn’t wait for the chance to get his hands on the madman.

“Would either of you like a piece of fruit?” The animal inquired as if they were all buddies enjoying a day in together. “I have apples, grapes and bananas.”

John was a bit confused by the strange question given their circumstances but kept his mouth shut but then to his surprise Harold decided to speak up. “John?” He inquired. 

John couldn’t see Harold as he was turned away from him and towards the lunatic. “No Harold. I don’t want anything,” he replied uneasily. 

John had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the end of it and he was right when Harold spoke again. 

Harold looked straight into the madman’s face and replied, “Go to hell.” and John held his breath in complete fear of the repercussions that was sure would follow.

“Excuse me?” The asshole asked astonished as the grin fell from his face.

“I said… you can go to hell you worthless shit.” Harold was in so much pain and discomfort he didn’t care what was to come. 

He had decided that he was done being compliant while the maniacal fiend had a field day torturing him. If he were going to be put to death anyway... why cooperate and make it pleasant for the beast while he was slowly killed?

“Are you enjoying the pain that much Mister Finch?” The monster asked as he moved forward in his chair.

“Please don’t,” John pleaded once again for mercy. “He’s just out of it right now, he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“I know exactly… what I’m saying,” Harold stated obstinately and winced as John continued to clean up his head wound. ‘If I’m going to die anyway… I can say whatever the fuck I want to. There are no … rules against that, are there?” He asked pointedly.

The monster’s expression turned to annoyance and then to anger and to John’s absolute horror he heard Finch begin to chuckle. “You are seriously… screwed in the head aren’t you?” He laughed again, “You and your… psychotic brother.” It was painful to laugh but he couldn’t help himself and he began to feel lightheaded again.

John was shocked by what was coming out of Harold’s mouth. He shook his head at the animal in fear, “No listen… this isn’t him, he’s delirious. He never talks like this, trust me.”

The madman began to grin slowly and Harold quieted, then began to pant heavily and then began to gasp. John had no idea what was happening as Harold rolled back against the table onto his back. He lay there grimacing, eyes screwed shut and sweat beading on his face and John was at a loss. He was starting to hyperventilate and grabbed John’s arm and squeezed it painfully. He looked into his eyes and John saw pain and fear fill them.

It was then that John saw the lower left section of the table moving ever so slowly, outwardly pulling Harold’s injured leg away from the natural alignment of his body once again.

“Ah! No… stop please!” Harold heard himself begging and it killed him to give in but he couldn’t help himself. “Please!” His free hand let go of John and reached reflexively to clutch for his hip. The pain that shot through his neck and body at the sudden movement was so severe he quickly lost consciousness.

“Jesus! Please stop he’s out!” John cried. 

All thought had gone out of his brain as he watched Harold’s body tremble and quake on the table, now dressed in bloody rags. He felt numb. What had Harold been thinking... taunting the madman like that? 

“If this is what I get for my generosity John... I’m not going to allow any more niceties on my part again.” The asshole sat back and the table finally halted its movement. 

John looked over and the bastard smiled wickedly at him, “Now… wake him up.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poor guys!

John looked at the monster, “Yes, alright I will wake him but would you please just let me finish getting a bandage over his head wound?” He asked anxiously. “It will only take a minute; then I’ll finish up and be done with it.”

“You are really testing my patience John... and now Mister Finch is pushing my buttons as well.” 

John could plainly see just how alike the monster and his brother truly were. The similarities were blatantly obvious to him now in his countenance, his personality, and penchant for cruelty. And just like his brother... John wanted to kill him too.

“Please…” He asked again as politely as he could. “I'll do my best to keep him quiet.”

The asshole sat back and studied him for a moment. “Alright, I’ll allow it but as soon as you’re finished the straps go back on. Is that understood?”

“Absolutely, yes.” John breathed a small sigh of relief and put his hand on his partner’s shoulder and leaned over him.

“Wait a minute, let’s get his leg re-positioned so it doesn’t kill him when he wakes up.” he giggled and moved the table back to normal position. “There. Now work your magic.” He grinned and sat back in his chair and watched the proceedings.

“Finch…” John wished he could just let him rest undisturbed but that wasn’t possible. He shook him a tiny bit then took the last clean towel he had and dampened it with water and dabbed at the sweat on his face.

John choked back a sob as he stood over his battered partner. 

The sight of exhaustion and ever-present, perpetual pain in his worn features was hard to bear. Again he was scared to death that he was going to lose him at any moment. He mentally crossed his fingers and prayed for his phone to vibrate in his pocket.

If it turned out that everything the madman had threatened them with was, in fact, true and he had been hired by someone else to do these horrific things to Harold and by extension to himself... then all was truly lost.

There were only two ways this thing could go. He hoped and prayed once again that the lunatic was lying and that there was no one else behind the scenes. 

Otherwise, he would most likely be facing death with his partner… together. There would be no way he would want to go on living without Harold by his side. He took a deep breath and shook the dark thoughts out of his mind.

“Harold… wake up.” He ran his hand over his partner’s cheek and stroked his face until he saw Harold’s eyelids flutter. “Finch…”

Harold opened his tired eyes and looked into John’s. The pain came back fully and assaulted him with a vengeance. “I’m so tired John…” He said despairingly and winced from the anguish.

“I know… I’m so sorry.” John choked back a sob and his heart physically ached at his partner’s declaration. His eyes teared up as he saw nothing but hurt and exhaustion looking back at him in Harold’s blue eyes. 

“Just let me get something on that head wound.” The action of dressing the wound would give him something to concentrate on, he needed the distraction. He knew that although the wound was bad and seeping blood, it wasn’t life threatening. But the situation as it stood now was eating away at him and he had to focus away from his own thoughts of despair, the feeling of helplessness was eating him up him inside. 

“What’s the point, John… honestly?” Harold really didn’t understand the need, “I don’t know why you’re bothering.” Harold was despondent again; fatigue and exhaustion were at the forefront of everything except the never-ending pain. Once again he was ready to give in and let death claim him. 

The wound to the back of his head was the least of his worries. Now it was his hip joint and the constant stabbing sensation in the back of his skull. The rest of his newly acquired injuries were vying for third place in the catalog of agony that was his existence right now, although the burn was very high on the scale.

“Please Harold… for me.” John was trying his best to remain calm through this hell. He was battling his own demons and finding it extremely hard to sit back and do nothing as he had to do now. 

If only he could tell Harold that he had found out that the animal had lied about his brother being free it might be enough to encourage him to take up the fight again.

John couldn’t blame Harold for feeling like giving up. He had lived with pain daily for the majority of a few years now but it was all relative and nothing could touch what he was enduring and experiencing right now… in this very moment. 

John could only hope that he’d be able to convince his partner to continue on for at least a little while longer, just until he got word back from Lionel. He would play the guilt card again if he had too for as long as it took to keep Harold alive.

“For me Finch… please” He smiled to offer Harold as much encouragement as possible.

Harold just looked back at him for a long moment. He had nothing left in him, he was almost completely drained of energy. “I don’t think… I can manage John… I’m sorry.” Harold's speech was slurred, he was having a hard time speaking and John’s concern amped up.

“Do it for your partner Mister Finch, make him feel better,” The monster interjected amusedly. 

Neither one of them acknowledged the asshole.

“Will you try? Please…” John was so keen on it Harold finally relented.

“Alright... I’ll try,” He answered weakly. “But I’ll need help.” Harold used what little strength he had left to lift his hand from the table and offer it to John.

“Okay, let’s get what’s left of these clothes off first; they aren’t doing anything but getting in the way.” John quickly cut away and removed what was left of Harold’s waistcoat and shirt, pulling the scraps of clothing out from under the straps, leaving his upper body bare. 

He found his own jacket and had it on hand to cover his partner from the waist up when he was finished with the bandaging.

John took a deep breath and took Harold’s forearm in one hand and put his other hand under his shoulder and began to lift him from the table once more.

“Ah...!” Harold cried out. He couldn’t stop the exclamation of pain coming out or the huffing and panting of his breathing as John slowly helped him roll over to lay partially on his side. Harold put his hand to the back of his neck and stayed as still as he could. 

“Please hurry.” He felt sick from the movement and pain and very nearly threw up.

“It’s pretty bad. I wish I could stitch it up but for now, we’ll just cover it and try to stop the bleeding.” John picked up the supplies and went to work. “Alright just try and hold that position.” John applied a large padded bandage over the wound and wrapped it with a long gauze strip over and around the top of Harold’s head to hold it in place.

“I think I’m going to be sick John… please hurry,” Harold gasped as he laid there halfway turned over with his stomach churning and the pain assailing him.

“There I’m done. Just relax now.” John helped Harold lay flat against the table while he tried to slow down his breathing and regain his equilibrium. John covered him over with his jacket.

“There now John… does that make you feel better?” The monster teased him sickeningly. “Mister Finch I think you did a nice thing there for your friend.” He grinned, “John needed to do that not for you but for himself.” He stood up and walked to one end of the console and threw the banana peel into a trash can and looked over to them. 

“Now… I need you to strap Mister Finch down again John, including his head” he demanded. “Do it now.”

John hated to but he had no choice right now, “It’s alright John.” Harold saw the hesitancy in John’s face and tried to make it easier on him. 

“I’m sorry Harold.” He fastened the straps back over Harold’s forehead, arm and torso and looked down at his partner sadly then straightened the coat around Harold’s upper body as best as he could. 

“Now I need to do something for myself.” The monster announced jubilantly. John looked at him questioningly. “Mister Finch will now receive punishment for being ill-mannered with me a short while ago.” 

“Wait! Please…” John exclaimed but could do nothing but watch as Harold’s face contorted briefly in discomfort and then confusion immediately after an unusual sound began to emanate from the table.

“Finch?” John looked for any indication from Harold but he seemed to be as confused as he was. “Harold, what happened?”

“Mister Finch has no idea what has just happened John. And it’s only just begun.” The delight and smug satisfaction on the fiend’s face was maddening.

Then Harold began to panic. “Stop! What are you doing?!” He exclaimed in alarm.

“It will all be clear momentarily, John.” The monster answered the look of question on his face, “I am in complete control right now so I advise you to stay calm lest I go too far and end things abruptly.”

John was terrified at those words, “Finch…? Talk to me. What’s happening to you?” John was confused; he couldn’t see what was distressing his partner so much as Harold began to sob in agony in between panting desperately for air.

“My… neck!” He cried in anguish. 

Then John could see what was happening. The table was bending upward just under Harold’s skull pushing against his spine at the damaged vertebrae in his neck. The strap holding his head down was in opposition to the force coming from underneath and straining the small bones in his neck. 

“Stop please! You’ll kill him!” John was beyond scared as his partner quieted. Harold’s hands were fisted tightly as he tried to hang on. John watched in horror as Harold’s Adam’s apple started to rise upward and his breathing started to become shallow. “Please! Stop…!” John begged. 

Harold couldn’t think, he couldn’t reason, then he couldn’t hear any more… he could only feel excruciating pain until his sight began to whiten around the edges and then began to fade as he struggled to breathe. 

Just as he began to lose the battle and felt himself being pulled into the final black abyss... his neck was released from the deadly angle and he could suddenly breathe again.

“Come now John, I have a pretty good idea of what I’m doing here, you see? I’ve told you that I know everything about Mister Finch’s prior injuries. I have studied his neck damage extensively and I don’t mean from the first time. I have his x-rays from the last surgery.” The madman stated proudly and grinned. He was delighted that he had taken Harold to the precipice of death... only to bring him back to suffer some more.

John took Harold’s hand in his and rubbed the back of it soothingly, trying to offer him some form of comfort as Harold’s awareness slowly came back to harsh reality once again. 

“That should persuade Mister Finch not to get mouthy with me again... don’t you think?” The monster sat back and picked up an apple. “Are you sure you don’t want some fruit?”

John couldn’t answer the lunatic, he leaned over his partner, “Are you alright Finch?” He asked anxiously.

Harold just looked into John’s eyes and blinked away the tears that had formed from the obstruction of his windpipe and conveyed his pain and resolution to give up. His breathing was labored and raspy and it hurt now with each breath he took. He wanted desperately for John to let him go. He was tired of fighting… he wanted release.

John couldn’t let him give up without first hearing from Lionel and once again it was killing him that he couldn’t relay the information he had to him… then his phone vibrated in his pocket.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a major character death here!!!!! Fair warning to all, please see the notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****WARNING!!!!***** If anyone wants to skip the death scene you can continue on to the next chapter, there is no requirement to read this one for continuity issues so go for it!
> 
> I'm sure this is not going to make anybody happy and it may piss a lot of readers off but it's just how it came out. I'm really very sorry!!! I had no idea until now that it was going to end so tragically.
> 
> ****I would like to offer to write an alternate ending if anyone is turned off by how this ended and is now boycotting my stories. ( I hope not! ) So if anyone is interested in reading a semi "happy" ending I would be happy to oblige, otherwise this is it. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck it out!
> 
> Please forgive me. I honestly didn't know how it was going to end until it was over.

John was desperate to see what Lionel had to say but again had to wait for the right opportunity.

His chest tightened at the thought of having to witness more punishment doled out to his suffering partner. He swallowed down the sob that was in his throat and turned away while Harold fought to remain conscious. He faced Harold again when he sensed he wanted to communicate once more and leaned in to his direct line of sight.

“I’m through John…” Harold asserted weakly, “Please… let me go…” Tears ran from the corners of his eyes at the look of despair John wore as he made his plea... but he couldn’t fight anymore, he hurt too much and was too tired and weak to continue any longer. 

The pain he was in and the thought of more piled on top of it was more than enough for him to want to give up. Even if he were to make it out of this nightmare, the reality of what he would have to go through afterward was too much to contemplate. 

He’d already gone through two major recoveries in recent years; he absolutely did not want to go through a third. There was nothing that could be said to change his mind on the matter. 

He knew he was being selfish but he just couldn’t bring himself to alter his decision… regardless of what it would do to John. 

John would go on without him; he was a fighter and much stronger than he was… he would be alright… he had to be. 

There was no question about it, Harold was sure that he wanted to die. Now it would all come down to whether or not he could entreat John to understand and let him go without blaming himself.

“I don’t want to lose you, Harold… you mean too much to me.” John choked up, he was losing hope too but couldn’t bring himself to admit it to his partner. No one could live through what had been done to Harold indefinitely and John was slapped with that reality more and more by the second as he watched his condition steadily deteriorate.

He hated to see him suffering and decided right then and there, that if Lionel didn’t come through with the news he hoped for... he wouldn’t continue to try and persuade his partner to fight anymore. He would let him give himself over to death. He was no hypocrite, he couldn’t blame him a bit and knew he would feel the exact same way if their positions were reversed. 

He only wished he would be able to help him… to end his life quickly but the asshole’s so-called rules wouldn’t allow it. But John also recognized that it wouldn’t take very long for Harold to die given everything he’d already been put through and the monster wasn’t finished dishing his torture out yet. 

It wasn’t going to take much more to push him over the threshold of life into death but to Harold… it would feel like an eternity.

“You’ll never… lose me, John…” Harold started but bit back a cry of agony as an intense stabbing sensation ran through the back of his head. 

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and struggled to breathe again through the agony. There would be no repairing the damage that had been done this time, Harold was sure of it and that certainty was the last push he needed to let go. 

Suddenly Harold’s mind began to flash bits of memories, a rapid snapshot of images both good and bad. He saw the day he knew there was something terribly wrong with his father’s mind and the day he had to say goodbye to him. The day he met Arthur and Nathan and the day they graduated MIT together. He saw in his mind’s eye the day the towers fell and the birth of the Machine as it would come to be known as subsequently and all of the lessons he had taught his child.

He saw the day his creation had shown him Grace in the park and the day he finally worked up the courage to introduce himself to her. He saw the birthday scavenger hunt he had arranged for her followed by the best day of his life… the day he proposed to the love of his life and her acceptance of the antebellum engagement ring that he offered her, the only thing that he possessed that belonged to his mother. 

And then he saw the worst day of his life. The day he lost everything including the will to live… the day his world collapsed beneath him. 

Then he saw the life he had most recently led… the day he found John and then the day that they had saved their first number together. He saw the day he knew that John Reese was as much a savior for him as he was for his partner. And finally he saw the last number that they had saved together, side by side, just the other day… He was satisfied that he’d done the best he could.

He was content then. He felt that he’d had a full life and now his time had come to say goodbye to it all. He invited the end and welcomed it with open arms.

His mind and body were finally giving up. He caught his breath as the pain abated just enough for him to continue.

“John…?” He felt distanced from his surroundings… like he was floating and he opened his eyes and found John’s as he leaned over him.

“I’m here Harold.”

He looked deeply into his partner’s eyes and tried again; above all else he needed John to hear him… to understand him. He smiled up at the man that had made every day worthwhile. “I’ll always… be with you…” Harold closed his eyes and his words trailed off into silence.

“Finch?” John squeezed his partner's forearm and waited for a reply. “Harold?” He tried again… and then he felt dread fill his soul.

Absolute fear struck him when he could get no response, “Harold! No… please!” He looked over to the console and saw that the monster was now panicking as well. “Harold!” He cried and put his ear to his chest. 

There was nothing. 

John shook his shoulders and still got no reaction. “God damn it, Finch, don’t do this!” John lifted Harold’s eyelids to find them fixed. There was no life behind them and John wanted to scream. He quickly realized that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

“I don’t understand,” the monster remarked, confusion permeating his words. “He should still be breathing… I’m not done with him yet… I’m not done.” The bastard couldn’t comprehend what had just happened and seemed to be in shock.

John had to try and revive his partner. He didn’t have time to pay any attention to the madman as he seemed to be having some sort of mental breakdown. 

He immediately began CPR; frantically alternating between chest compressions and breathing air into Harold’s lungs. 

He could just hear the madman on the periphery of his hearing lamenting the fact that this wasn’t supposed to be the way Harold died. John tuned him out and frantically continued to work on his partner.

“Please come back…” He sobbed in between breaths, “Please… Harold.” He was losing strength as the time passed. He wasn’t sure how much had elapsed but there had been no response from his ministrations and his arms wanted to give out. 

All he knew for certain was that Harold was dead in front of him… still strapped to a table of torture and now... death.

He was empty. Void of emotion. He was in total shock as he looked down at the man that had given him his life back. The man that had brought meaning to his existence again. 

The kindest, most loyal and forgiving man he had ever known. 

John quietly mourned the man that had done so much for so many people only to have his life taken by a lunatic in the most horrific way imaginable. 

“I just don’t understand what could have happened... he wasn’t supposed to die yet.” John heard the lunatic mumbling to himself, checking the console for the answer. 

He turned to him and suddenly rage enveloped every fiber of his being.

“I’ll tell you what happened you piece of shit.” John’s voice was deadly menacing as he glared at the murdering bastard.

“A man can only take so much before he wants to die… before he longs and desires to be rid of the pain of living.” The madman looked at John as he approached him with murder in his eyes, unable to move from the spot.

“You thought you had all of the power when in reality you didn’t have the final say in his death. Did you? You inhuman psychopath. Harold had the final say at the end, didn’t he?!” John’s voice began to take on the emotion that he felt and the lunatic cringed as he got closer.

“Listen, John… you had better stay away or I’ll…” 

“You’ll what?” John replied barely able to keep himself from ripping the madman’s throat out. “You lied about your brother; what else have you lied about? What other lies did you tell us to keep us in line? What lies did my partner die for?!” John took the madman’s shirt in his hands and shook him until his legs gave out and he cowered on the floor in front of the console.

John looked down and finally got a look at the control panel. It was impressive, to say the least. Every movement and motion the table possessed were all written out on the board. 

He saw the label for the electrification of the straps and turned it off. There were multiple security feeds of the property and he saw the switch for the locks to the front gate and released it. 

For a moment John had every intention of putting the lunatic on his table and slowly taking him apart personally but it would mean that he would have to prolong seeing to his partner’s remains. 

Harold deserved better than that. The thought of his caring, altruistic partner’s body being in the same room with the violent and unfeeling monster longer than absolutely necessary was unacceptable.

But John wouldn’t kill him outright. He would strap him to his table and make it as painful as he could and he would leave the lunatic to rot slowly with no hope of rescue; to die excruciatingly and utterly alone for days on end. 

He could think of no better end for the vile murderous beast.

As he stood over the fiend, he absently felt the phone in his pocket vibrate again. He had forgotten all about it. 

He took a deep breath and pulled it out, almost afraid to look, he knew he had to. He owed Harold the respect to see whether he had died for the truth or for lies.

The lunatic looked up from the floor, still in shock and denial and saw John’s expression change. He knew then for sure that his time was near its end.

John’s face fell as he read the words and he closed his eyes and wept silently.

The first text Lionel had sent read: Root had the Machine check on Grace, she’s still safe in Italy. Do you guys need my help? And the second one read: I’m getting a little worried here. Get back to me right away so I can relax alright?

“Look, John, you can’t blame me after what you did to my brother. I mean he’ll probably die in that prison, he’s the only one I have in the world... you have to understand…” The lunatic did his best but John wasn’t hearing any of his meaningless justifications. 

He opened his eyes and looked back at his partner’s body and felt his legs getting weak. 

Harold had died needlessly. There was never any other people in danger. Grace was never at risk, there was no one watching her. She was perfectly fine living a life of Harold's making, oblivious to the fact that her fiancé had not died once for her but twice.

There could be no more tragic ending for such a tenderhearted and compassionate man and for a moment... John was at a loss as to what to do… how to proceed. 

The harsh reality right in front of him of the tragic death of the greatest man John had ever known was incomprehensible to him. 

Then the lunatic spoke again and John was instantly broken out of his denial and knew exactly what had to be done.

“What are you going to do?” He asked anxiously groveling at John’s feet, not daring to stand up.

He picked the sniveling bastard up from the floor and quickly turned him around and choked him out to fall to back to the floor unceremoniously in an unconscious heap.

He made his way back over to Harold slowly and stood over him once more and caressed his beloved face. Hot tears spilled from his eyes and streamed down his face as he mentally said goodbye to his partner. 

Harold was at peace now. There would be no more pain for him ever again.

John numbly and methodically unstrapped Harold’s body from the table and took a breath, looking down at his still hand. He took the motionless appendage in his and brought it to his lips.

“I’m so sorry.” He closed his eyes for a moment of grief then laid his partner’s hand down beside his body gently and swallowed the lump in his throat. 

He tucked his jacket around Harold’s torso and picked him up carefully in his arms and made his way outside the large compound in a daze.

He carried his partner close to him so that Harold’s head lay against his shoulder. John put his face against the top of Harold’s head and brushed his cheek over the fine strands of his hair. He held his silent form tenderly and wept further as he continued to walk.

He got to the gate and kicked it open and took Harold to the car and placed him as carefully as he possibly could into the back seat then stood up and gazed upon his face once more, wiping away the tears.

He moved on auto-pilot to return to the room that had ended his partner’s life and walked over to the unconscious madman. He loomed over the lunatic and grabbed him by the collar and drug him to the table. He picked him up under his arms and maneuvered him to lay face down on the table and strapped him down tightly.

The monster woke up just as John had finished the task.

“What…?” It took the monster a split second to realize what was happening and the situation he now found himself in was terrifying.

“John what…? Please let me up.” He tried to raise his head to look at him but John walked away without a word to return to the console.

“John please! You know that Mister Finch wouldn’t want you to do this! Please don’t!” He begged.

“Harold isn’t here anymore thanks to you... so now you’re going to pay.” John hit the switch for the blades and every one of them swiftly came up through the table and pierced the lunatic’s body in multiple places. 

“Ah!” He exclaimed as the momentary discomfort came and went almost instantly.

“Don’t worry, those are just deep enough to be bleeders, just messy really, they won’t kill you.”

John took a moment of pleasure and satisfaction from spitting those words back at the monster before he hit the switch that sent a brutal shock through the asshole making his body stiffen and letting it shock him for a few seconds before he turned it off.

The monster was dazed and gasped for breath as his body finally went lax on the table.

“Are you awake?” John asked mockingly. “I thought about just leaving that feature run until your heart finally gave out but then your suffering would be over well before you’d had time to think about the murderous crime you’ve committed. That would be a mercy that I’m not inclined to give you.” John walked over to the bastard and leaned down to look him in the eye.

“No, you have to live long enough to curse the day you ever laid eyes on Mister Finch and myself... you worthless piece of garbage. I’m going to turn the sprinklers on so that you get a good shower, clean you off some… and then I’m going to leave you to bleed and maybe die of hypothermia.” John grinned wickedly and added, “But hopefully you’ll die from dehydration… that would be ideal.”

“No! John please… you can’t leave me here like this!” The monster continued to beg as John made his way one last time to the console and hit the electrical button for a few more seconds for good measure, shutting the monster up for the time being. 

He grinned and then he hit the sprinklers and ice-cold water rained down upon the monster pulling the breath from his lungs with its intensity. 

He shut the water off and walked to the doorway. He turned and looked at the beast once more as he laid on his table gasping desperately, trying to get his breath back.

John stood there and thought about what Harold would think about what he was doing to eliminate the problem strapped to the table. What he would say about leaving the lunatic to die in such a brutal manner.

He imagined in his mind’s eye his partner smiling at him and saying. “Thank you, John… for not killing him.” Because technically he hadn’t… he was just letting him die.

He turned to go and take Harold back to the city, leaving the monster to his fate. He would take his partner and lay him to rest.

Finally… Harold could rest.


	22. Part One - Alternate ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of an alternate ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this will satisfy any readers that may not have liked the original ending, thanks again to everyone for reading! Please let me know what you think, I would greatly appreciate it!

John had to get to his phone immediately. Harold was in extremely bad shape and was surely going to die at any time without medical help. 

Harold was ready to give up without a doubt this time... John was sure of it and he knew he didn’t have any more ammunition to persuade him to fight on in the current state of his body and mind.

If Lionel didn’t come through, Finch would die with absolute certainty in this god forsaken room of misery and there would be nothing he could do to prevent it.

“Mister Finch, have you anything else you’d like to say to me now?” The animal asked smugly, tauntingly as he stood behind the console and peered down upon his suffering victim.

“Can’t you just leave him alone for a few minutes... please!” John implored the bastard warily, trying not to anger him. 

The lunatic grinned, “I’m not speaking to you, John. I want an apology from your partner and I want it now.” The monster sat down and looked over at them and popped a grape in his mouth while he waited for Harold’s reply.

Harold just looked up at John with indignation in his eyes, there was no way that he was going to apologize to the lunatic and John knew it.

“Mister Finch? I’m losing my patience with you, sir, you had better re-think your stubbornness immediately.” 

“Finch… please.” John pleaded with him in vain. 

Harold was resigned, he couldn’t care less what the monster was going to do. The immense pain he was already suffering through wasn’t going anywhere and just maybe whatever the madman was going to do to him as punishment might be enough to finally kill him… at least he hoped it would.

But John couldn’t stand the thought of Harold dying without knowing for sure whether Grace or anyone else was really in danger. His instincts were still screaming at him that there was something not right with the lunatic’s story. 

John hoped that the madman was lying about everything he’d told Harold and he only needed a moment unobserved to look at his phone to know for certain.

He was so afraid that Harold was going to die if he were put through anything more that he was almost frantic. He had to coerce him to comply… he just had too. John didn’t know what he would do without his touchstone helping to ground him through his life. 

Just for now Harold had to placate the animal and spare himself additional torture. John would try once more but he knew how stubborn Harold could be. 

“I’m begging you, Finch! Tell him you’re sorry please!” John felt tears of frustration run from his eyes as Harold indicated to him that it wasn’t going to happen. 

“No…” He replied weakly, “I’m sorry John… I won’t, give him… the satisfaction.”

John shut his eyes and turned and walked away towards the wall, unable to watch what was going to happen.

“Well if you’re that certain Mister Finch, I’m going to let you have a say in what your punishment will be.” The bastard chided. “Would you like door number one or door number two?” he offered flippantly. "That’s all you need to say Mister Finch since you obviously don’t mind the extra pain that’s going to be involved. One… or two, it’s your call.” 

The monster grinned wide at the reaction he was getting from John, it was his own brand of torture for the resilient former op. The fact that John had been reduced to tears numerous times already was highly entertaining to the bastard and he was relishing each emotional outburst John was unable to hide and he observed him with great delight.

“I’ll tell you once more… you maniacal fool… you can go to hell!” Harold spoke as loudly and contemptuously as he could manage in his weakened state. 

John cringed with his back still to the room. He couldn’t watch anymore and it might afford him the opportunity to look at his phone while the asshole was occupied with Finch. He waited, terrified for his chance.

“It seems that you are the fool, sir.” The monster replied mockingly, “I could do as you want me to do and put you out of your misery, but you see, I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I know that is precisely what you want me to do and I’m not going to let you get off that easily.” 

Finch chuckled, “Oh… is that what you’d be doing?” he chuckled again, wincing at the pain plaguing his entire body with each tremor, “That’s letting me… off easy? You truly are… ignorant aren’t you?” Harold’s strength was faltering again but he couldn’t help himself, as he pushed the lunatic further. “You are the worst kind of psychopath… I feel very sorry for you… you must have been despised by everyone… you’ve ever known… including your despicable brother.

The monster’s face was turning red at Harold’s chiding and he glared at him with absolute hatred.

"I’m going to drag this out for as long as I possibly can and when it’s finally over for you, it will be just the beginning for your loyal protector’s pain. Or should I say, former protector,” he taunted Harold spitefully. “John here will have to live every day of his life seeing your anguished face every time he closes his eyes.” 

Harold felt his heart constrict in his chest at the thought of the pain and despair John would have to live with after he’s gone. 

He couldn’t think of anything to reply with as his mind contemplated the odds and probabilities of different scenarios that would plague his partner after his death. John would no doubt blame himself and Harold began to think about things a bit differently.

“Too late!” The monster exclaimed, “I’ll have to choose your punishment myself then!”

“Please don’t!” John turned around to face the lunatic, he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Please… I know as well as you do what he’s doing,” John said. “You’re right, he’s trying to goad you into finishing him off. Please, Harold… don’t give into him, hang on please!”

Just then John felt his phone vibrate with another text.

“Yes John but you two seem to have forgotten something so let me refresh both of your memories.” The asshole sat down and grinned. "As I’ve explained to you already, I have Mister Finch’s vital statistics on display here in front of me. I know exactly how far I can push him and when to pull back. 

“Do you not remember what I have already stated? Did you think I was lying earlier when I warned you that I wouldn't accept suicide by any means?” His grin broadened, “That includes provoking me, into killing you Mister Finch.” He sat back in his chair as John walked back to the table, touching his phone through his pants as he approached his partner. He was itching to see what Lionel had to say.

Harold began to weep quietly, understanding hitting him like a Mack truck. There were two things he needed to do now. 

The first thing was that he had to fight to live with every ounce of strength he could muster and keep his mouth shut so he didn’t seem as if he were trying to goad the monster into killing him. But it was getting more difficult by the minute to stay conscious and alive through the agony he was undergoing but he had to try... as painful as it was to live and endure everything, he had to try.

From the very beginning, one of the prerequisites of this whole nightmare was that he had to die slowly and according to the maniac’s rules. He had to comply and not tempt or incite the monster into killing Grace and the rest of the people he had under his power.

Number two... he had to fight and live for John. Harold had never before known anyone in his life that had the ability to get themselves and others out of hopeless situations as well as his partner could. It finally dawned on him as he lay there contemplating, that John had sent some sort of communication out through his phone just a short time ago. John must have sent a text inquiring after Grace and now he was waiting for a reply.

Harold knew that John would ultimately abide by his wishes and he couldn’t ask him not to try to save them both if he could without being detected. He would do the same if their situation was reversed. He trusted him absolutely and without question.

“So, I’ll ask again, door number one or door number two?” The lunatic grinned wickedly, “Let’s let John decide again, how about it gentlemen? Are you willing to let your partner have the choice Mister Finch? He chose well the first time.” He smirked as he alluded to Harold’s blood splattered all over the room. "What do you say...?”


	23. Part Two - Alternate ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of a projected three part alternate ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it was better to update with a smaller part to the alternate ending rather than wait longer for a big section so I hope everyone approves! Feel free to let me know what you think please!

Harold wouldn’t let John be put into that appalling decision a second time. The look of defeat on John’s face made Harold want to kill the bastard himself. “One!” He exclaimed as forcefully as he could manage before the fiend could demand a reply from John. 

John looked at Harold desolately. He would now have to witness Harold endure more torture yet again while he could only watch on powerless to intervene.

“It’s alright John.” Harold managed to say.

John couldn’t do anything to help his partner at the moment; he couldn’t pull out his phone no matter how much he ached to as the monster’s eyes were intently watching them both. 

His brain was screaming at him and the uselessness he felt tormenting him. Harold looked at him tenderly, trying to offer a tiny bit of comfort, knowing how hard it was for John to have to stand down once again and allow whatever the monster was going to do to him ensue.

“Alright then, since Mister Finch wants to make his own choice, one it is.” The lunatic was ecstatic as he leaned over the console and hit a switch and another indistinguishable sound emanated from the table.

John watched Harold for any indication of what was about to take place as Harold stared at the ceiling and waited for whatever was to come with dread. A few seconds later Harold’s expression progressively transformed into agony and he began to whimper then groan and John could see what was happening.

Every strap that held Harold pinned to the table began to constrict slowly, tightening around each section of his body that it was in contact with. 

Seeing and hearing the sounds of distress coming from his partner and the muffled unadulterated pain and suffering shortly thereafter that John couldn’t help but to hear made him want to retch.

As hard as he tried, Harold couldn’t suppress the fear and panic that rose up from him as the straps tightened further until he thought he would die from the crushing force. 

Breathing was becoming next to impossible as his chest was slowly compressed and the sound of his torment abated as the air was being forced from his lungs. 

With the last bit of breath he thought he had left in his lungs he looked at John with desperation and gasped. “Don’t… watch…”

This was going to be it… it had to be the end and then it would finally be over and his pain would vanish forever. He would have said a prayer if he could think… if he could reason through the anguish.

John did as he was told, he couldn’t stand to watch anymore and was grateful that Harold had told him not to… so he closed his eyes and held Harold’s tight gripped hand through the onslaught of his agony. 

John only wished he could block out the sounds of torment from his ears. He had never felt so distraught in his life and prayed for the strength to see to Harold’s wishes until the end if this is what it turned out to be.

Harold’s rib cage and lower abdomen as well as his limbs were being crushed further against the table and he thought for certain that he would start to feel his bones breaking under his flesh at any moment from the pressure. 

Harold was resigned to accept his fate and prayed for a quick end to the pain and for death to hurry and usher him away.

His lower back was being squeezed out of alignment and stood out as the most agonizing thing he was enduring at the moment. And then there was the compression of his chest. He was finding it more and more difficult to draw air into his lungs, a singular pain all of its own. 

The crushing weight was unbearable and Harold was getting light-headed as the seconds drew on too slowly. He was now completely unable to inhale and then suddenly he felt, and at the same instant he heard, a sickening pop in his hip joint immediately before he lost consciousness.

Harold’s tense and overwrought body instantly went slack on the table and Harold’s tight grip let go and relaxed fully in John’s hand.

“Please!” John cried in shock and fear as he was convinced that he had witnessed his partner’s final agonizing moments. “No!”

Harold lay unconscious and it seemed as if he had stopped breathing. The fiend had found the perfect way to torture John and took great pleasure from the misery of seeing him watch his partner die agonizingly in front of him.

“Not to worry John he’s not dead yet, I’m still monitoring him… and I believe he’s had plenty for the moment.” The asshole smirked and released the tension off the straps and continued to enjoy the show. 

Harold awoke abruptly gasping and wheezing instinctively for air and tried feebly to sit up, He didn’t recognize what was happening quite yet as he pushed weakly against the restraints. Then he gazed around the room and reality hit him excruciatingly as every bone in his body it seemed, screamed at him in agony. 

His lungs impulsively continued to pump oxygen through his battered system, unwillingly on his part, and the awareness that he was still alive and in more pain than ever before and that it wasn’t over, made him sob in despair. 

John was disheartened as he witnessed the moment Harold had realized what was still happening to him and teared up at the sight of his distraught partner.

“Finch…” John was relieved that Harold was alive but saddened that his suffering still wasn’t over. He leaned in close to Harold and whispered to him as calmly as he could, “Breathe… keep breathing… Please, Harold… I can’t do this alone.” 

John was bereft but managed to hide the fact as he watched Harold fight through the tears to try and regulate his inhalations. “Breathe with me, Finch.” He found that Harold was just barely managing to calm down and he kept up his encouragement finding that he was helping himself as well. “That’s it… you’re doing it, Harold.”

“Very good John, you’re such a great guy…” The asshole spoke up. “I mean, I don’t think I could stand by and do nothing but watch the complete and utter decimation of my partner without helping him.” 

The lunatic chided John but he tried to block out the cutting, painful truth. “But give yourself some credit. You’re letting it happen for the greater good as Mister Finch fully realizes and encourages you to do. Isn’t that right Mister Finch?” The asshole laughed, “Oh I’m sorry, I see you’re having trouble breathing, I’ll give you a minute,” He laughed again.

John pretended to pay him no attention as he continued to try and soothe his poor partner but every word that came out of the vile beast’s mouth was another bullet he wanted to put into his brain.

“Harold listen to me…” John began as Harold was finally able to breathe again weakly but with more regularity through the anguish of his body's injuries.

John leaned over him and wiped the perspiration from Harold’s face, “Listen.” John made sure Harold was hearing him and lucid enough to understand the meaning he had to convey to him. John looked into his eyes and with the language they had all of their own he told Harold he had to fight.  
“You must stay alive Finch.” 

Harold looked up at John and was sure that he saw a glimmer in his blue eyes that told him there was still a chance. As much as he was hurting and as hopeless as he felt it was for him. Harold closed his eyes for a moment and opened them quickly indicating he understood. 

And finally John felt a tiny bit of hope once more that there was still a possibility for him to get them out of there. He gazed at his tormented partner and smiled down at him.


	24. Part Three - Alternate ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... The best laid plans, lol. 
> 
> I felt compelled to post something on this to let everyone know that I'm still working on it! I still haven't quite gotten to the end yet so another small piece and the goal is one more section after this to finish it off properly. 
> 
> That's the idea as it stands now anyway! Thanks for everyone's patience, this kind of got away from me but I WILL finish it!
> 
> Please feel free to let me know your thoughts! Comments are always appreciated!!

For a third time, John felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and he knew it was vital that he see what Lionel had to say.

“He needs some more water,” John told the lunatic. “I’m going to get a cold one; would you like another one as well, doctor?" He asked sarcastically as he made his way to the fridge.

“No that’s quite alright John but thank you for the thought,” The asshole grinned.

“Tell me something?” Harold asked with as much strength as he could muster, trying to divert the fiend from paying too much attention to what John was doing.

John inwardly cringed as Harold began to speak. He could only hope that Harold’s method of distraction wouldn’t garner him more punishment while his back was turned and he leaned into the fridge and pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Certainly Mister Finch… ask away.” The monster sat back and got comfortable. 

The bastard hoped that Harold would say something smart-assed so he could torture him again but he would listen tolerantly and respond accordingly.

John held his breath at both Finch’s rejoinder and what he was about to find out from his phone. 

Harold began, “At what point… did you and your brother decide… that you were going to become criminals?” He couldn’t really care less about the answer to his question but decided to chance upsetting the monster if it gave John the time and distraction he needed.

“What an interesting query sir.” The bastard paused and regarded Harold for a moment. “I’ll wager that you thought your question would somehow anger or irritate me.” The fiend sat forward and smiled. “I’ll also bet that you were counting on it so that I would finish you off once and for all.”

John read the information on the phone and hurriedly typed a response. He stood up straight and slipped the phone back into his pocket. With his back still turned away from the room he took a second to breathe a small sigh of relief.

Fusco had come through... He was able to figure out John’s cryptic messages and he came through and with Root and the Machine’s help John now knew that Grace and everyone else that the madman was threatening were safe and were never truly in peril at all. The madman had made the whole thing up so he could get retribution for his lunatic brother’s imprisonment without a fight from John or Harold. 

The evidence he had shown Finch was somehow believable enough to put the question of innocent people’s lives being threatened into his partners mind... he wouldn’t have been so gullible otherwise. But John couldn’t worry about that now. The important thing was figuring out a way to get Harold off the table without killing them both in the process. They had to play along with the fiend’s perception of having all the power over them without him becoming suspicious until the right time.

John responded to Fusco’s question of coming to their rescue using GPS by quickly typing: = Under surveillance, need Shaw and ambulance - stay away two miles – wait for further orders. John had never been more grateful for auto-correct in his life as he hurriedly typed out his response.

The difficulty now came down to getting Finch off the table alive and in one piece.

John turned and asked as he walked back over to Harold’s side. “Would you please raise my partner enough so he doesn’t choke?”

“Of course John.” The table shifted enough so that Harold wasn’t lying flat anymore and able to swallow a small amount of water as John tilted the cold liquid to his lips carefully. He positioned the bottle so that Harold didn’t have to strain his neck and acknowledged the grateful look in his partner’s eyes with a small smile. 

“Are you going to answer the question, Mister Wesley?” John asked.

“Is Wesley even your real name?” John had received the best possible news from Lionel and was finding it hard not to jump for joy. He laid a hand on Harold’s arm and looked down at his partner and squeezed gently. 

Harold could see relief in John’s eyes and knew then that the situation had changed and that Grace and the others were safe and in no danger... he wasn’t so sure about himself. He knew how near death he was and he took comfort in the knowledge that if he died now... at least he would have done so knowing that no one else would have to suffer for his defiance.

“I’m sure you’re both well aware gentlemen, that Wesley was one of my brother’s aliases.” He stood up and stretched behind the console. “Given the circumstances, I don’t see the need to hide the fact that our surname is in fact, Gentry.” He smiled proudly at the announcement.

Harold laughed out loud and winced from the exertion but he couldn’t help himself. Knowing the monster’s last name was Gentry was completely satirical and the irony of the benign and aristocratic surname was not lost on him.

The asshole took the opportunity to dole out more punishment and with great relish, he hit the button on the control panel and shocked Harold once again for a long moment.

“Stop please!” John pleaded. He couldn’t wait for the chance to get his hands on the asshole.

“As you wish John but I recommend that Mister Finch keep his giggling to himself.” The madman looked at Harold trembling and breathless on the table and smiled malevolently at him as John’s blood boiled just under the surface.

Harold felt hot tears of agony running down either side of his face as he fought to remain breathing and lucid. He was cognizant enough to know that John needed an opportunity to get the lunatic away from his console… to be kept away from administering more pain or death and finally end the horror that they’ve been undergoing. 

Harold pulled deeply from the last of his reserves to ask the sadistic man another question. He knew it was risky but was compelled to appease his own curiosity and perhaps aid John in discovering enough about the table to shut it down without either of them having to die in the process.

“What happens… if I change my mind?” Harold gasped through the anguish his entire body was suffering.

John looked down at him confused and afraid of what Harold was doing... but there had to be a method to his apparent madness now that Finch knew that he had found out something worth fighting for.

“Finch?” John was nervous, to say the least. He had no idea what Harold was thinking and it scared the hell out of him. 

Harold regarded his frightened partner and gave him a look that John understood to mean he had something in mind, he wiped the sweat from Harold’s face and waited nervously for what came next.

“What are you talking about?” The lunatic asked perplexed.

“What happens if I… tell Mister Reese to go ahead… and have his way with you?” 

John’s eyes grew wide and he looked at the maniac’s blank expression. The man was clearly thrown by the question and he gaped at them for a moment in puzzlement.

“It’s a simple… question.” Finch added and winced as the nerves in his back sent a jolt of stabbing pain into his hip joint and lower spine.

John looked down at him as well in total bewilderment. Harold smiled as best he was able through the onslaught of pain and winked at John as a signal to trust him. 

If Harold’s plan worked John would know soon enough the information he needed to get them both out of there alive.

The asshole finally found his wits after the surprising query and gathered himself to answer petulantly.

“Well apart from killing everyone I have under my control, not least of all Miss Hendricks’s of course; if Mister Reese so much as touches any of the straps that bind you to the table while it’s powered up, not only will you die but he will most likely perish in the attempt to release you as well.” The monster sat down and leaned back in his chair and went further... pleased to have the opportunity to brag about his cherished table. 

John listened intently as Harold just fought to remain conscious and coherent as the monster happily lectured further. 

Finch had hope that John would glean whatever information he would need to put an end to their predicament from the gloating bastard. He couldn’t seem to think properly anymore through the anguish he was suffering through and whimpered quietly finding himself drifting in a haze of unfocused shades of color and muffled sounds. He was slowly losing lucidity while his body trembled unrelentingly and he nodded in and out of consciousness.

The bastard continued with delighted smugness. “You see, things have to be done a certain way here on the panel or the controls will automatically lock on their own, working to kill you in any number of ways.” He smiled broadly, “And… my crowning achievement gentlemen,” He sat forward enthusiastically, “Is a single switch just at the end of the console that works to tie every horrifying ability my table has been designed to do and combine them to work in unison.” The lunatic paused for a moment to grin again wickedly at the two of them. “It would make the last moments of your life Mister Finch… arguably the most painful death that any living soul has ever experienced before.”

John looked at his poor partner as Harold was oblivious to what was being said and being dragged painfully through living hell. Harold hadn’t heard a word the monster said and John knew he needed to act immediately or he would soon lose his partner for good.


	25. Part Four - alternate ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 4 of 5 I think, bear with me please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really thought that this was going to be the last part of the alternate ending but I felt like I needed to post something for my own sanity so here's this part and felt I needed a bit more for a true ending, thus the "last" is still to come.  
> I've had a bit of writer's block and it's extremely depressing and discouraging. Please let me know if anyone is still interested in seeing the "happy ending" of this fic. It would be a great help to get me motivated again and I would appreciate any comments, good or bad. Thank you very much to all of you that have stuck by this story, it means more than I can say.

“Mister Finch…? Mister Finch!” the asshole prodded John’s disjointed partner relentlessly, without effect. “Well, I see I’m going to have to put forth some thought into maintaining his attention,” he remarked irratibly as he studied the console.

“No, please let me try,” John said anxiously. He didn’t want to see what the monster had in mind to get Harold to respond.

“I’ll let you have two minutes to bring him around.” The lunatic sat down and watched John attempt to bring his partner back into awareness, amusement playing in his expression. “If I have to step in I’m afraid there will be more drugs involved,” he threatened.

“Harold… I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to wake up.” John felt absolutely terrible as he lightly slapped Harold’s cheek, one and then the other with an open hand, “Finch, please look at me.”

The only response from Harold was a weak muttered string of seemingly incoherent words and phrases as John continued to try and awaken him back into consciousness.

 

“You don’t seem to be having much luck John; it looks as though I may have to make good on my promise.” The asshole sat forward and grinned as John continued, as gently as possible, to smack Harold’s face to rouse him.

“Please Finch!” John raised his voice as his efforts became more earnest and that finally seemed to make a difference.

“John…?” Harold could just barely make John’s face out in the dizzying blur of his vision. 

“It’s me, Harold, you have to stay with me… can you do that?” 

Harold’s expression spoke of pure agony and his face and body glistened with sweat. His eyes were redder than John had ever seen them before and it was tearing him up inside that he could do nothing about it but watch. 

“It hurts John…” Harold answered quietly, wincing in pain with every word he spoke.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling tears of desperation and sorrow stinging the corners of his eyes. 

He opened them and looked down at his anguished partner, “I know and I’m sorry but you have to stay awake… alright?" John smiled as best he could, “You have to try.”

Harold again began to nod out and John stroked his face, “Stay awake for me, Finch.”

“I’ll try…” he slurred weakly but as hard as he tried, Harold couldn’t cling tightly enough to consciousness and it slipped through his grasp. He immediately passed out completely and John felt panic rise in his chest and take hold of him once again.

“So that’s that, I guess,” the lunatic remarked delightedly and stood up from his chair.

“He’s in too much pain… his body is giving out on him!” John snarled in outrage. “He can’t help it… please let him rest some. Let him have a small break from the constant misery he’s in.” He reigned in his emotions as best he was able and hoped he didn’t piss the man off by his momentary loss of control.

“Alright John, I’ll give you a choice, what do you say?” The bastard studied the console for a second and grinned, then leaned forward and took a good hard look at Harold’s unconscious form.

“What are you talking about?” John stiffened.

“Either I wake him up from here, which it goes without saying will be extremely painful. or you wake him up with the next solution in my arsenal of tailor-made drugs.” 

John couldn’t believe what he was suggesting yet again. He was beyond any hope now that the animal would run out of ways to torture his partner.

“I’ll help you decide since you seem to be having difficulty processing my question. If I apply any more physical exertion, via electricity or... anything else really... to his overtaxed body it would most likely result in his immediate death and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” 

He grinned infuriatingly at John and reveled in the rage he drew from him. “And it would happen quite a bit sooner than if you were to just hook him up with more of my cocktail of hallucinogens,” he added for good measure.

John couldn’t think for a moment. He looked at the man dumbfounded.

“Look, John, I know this is rough on you but the answer should be clear… go to the cabinet and retrieve the amber solution, hang it, stick it into the cannula and start the pump.”

John still wasn’t sure what he should do; if only he could get the maniac away from the control panel... he could end everything by breaking his neck.

“Do it now,” the asshole demanded impatiently. 

“What will it do to him?” he asked hesitantly.

A devious smile came to the madman’s face and John wanted to throttle him. “It will wake him up and keep him awake for a while John. I promise it won’t kill him.”

John clenched his jaw tightly while he glared at the monster.

“I said now,” the lunatic ordered with finality, cutting off all talk and replacing the grin he had with a glower.

John hated what he was about to do with every fiber of his being but he had no other option right now. As long as the asshole had access to the control panel, he may as well be holding a gun to Finch’s head. He did as he was told and went to the cabinet and found the bag of liquid.

“If it helps with your conscience John, I can tell you that there will be no pain involved.” The madman remarked casually as John inserted the needle into the port on top of Harold’s hand.

John didn’t acknowledge the lunatic as he turned on the pump to administer the drug. “At least not at first,” the bastard added for peak effect of John’s reaction.

John clenched his jaw tight and bit back the response he wanted to make. He wouldn’t let himself be baited anymore if he could help it.

Almost immediately Harold’s body began to make tiny movements throughout. There was twitching of his hands and feet and then he began to mumble.

John leaned over him and put a hand on his face. His skin was cool and clammy and John tried to sooth his incoherent partner. “I’m here Finch… shhh, I’m here.”

“Step away and let him speak John,” the monster ordered. “It interests me to see what he’s experiencing in his head right now.”

John stood up and watched as Harold began to ramble on quietly, barely perceptible to his own ears. 

The thought of his partner being on display was eating at him but at least Harold would have a few moments to rest… if that’s what it could be called.

Amidst the meandering lines of quiet words, John could make out something he recognized as Harold began again almost silently, “I am not lost for I know where I am… but where I am may be lost.”

“Ah! One of my favorite books as a child,” the monster exclaimed happily and craned his hearing for more. “I do hope he goes on.”

John bit his tongue and stood by solemnly and listened as well. 

He recognized the verse from Winnie the Pooh as well and felt a lump in his throat from the inflection of hopelessness in Harold’s voice as he said it.

There was nothing he could do for either one of them at the moment but at least as the monster had purported, there didn’t seem to be any pain involved.

Then Harold went somewhere else and the monster smiled happily as he started reciting lines from Alice in Wonderland. 

“I knew who I was this morning but I’ve changed a few times since then…” Harold opened his weary eyes and stared off into the space above him absently and continued as if he’d been given a stimulant of some kind. 

He continued to speak with renewed energy, “We’re all mad here…!” Harold pronounced and a moment later, “How long is forever? Sometimes just one second…” the madman giggled with delight as Harold continued, “If you drink too much from a bottle marked poison… it is certain to disagree with you sooner or later.”

“Another of my favorites! Through the Looking Glass,” the bastard said excitedly. “This is fun, isn’t it John? I wish we’d done this one sooner!”

John didn’t bother acknowledging the bastard; he watched his partner diligently for any signs of distress from what was happening to him. Harold continued reciting random lines of text from memory.

“I’m afraid so… you’re totally bonkers, but I’ll tell you a secret,” Harold actually smiled a bit before he finished the line favorably, “All the best people are…”

Then John could see it in Harold’s eyes. His partner’s brilliant mind turned grim and was completely focused on whatever was happening in his head. 

He didn’t say another word but the finite expressions of thinking and interacting were evident on his pained face. He was obviously carrying on some communication with someone as his lips moved to speak soundlessly.

“Surely that can’t be everything?” the asshole remarked and sat back, disappointed.

Then John got an idea. If it worked it would be the opportunity he needed to get to the bastard and get him away from the console and Harold out from under his control.

“He’s still talking I just can’t understand what he’s saying,” John reported. He moved to put his ear next to Harold’s face and pretended to be engrossed in what he was saying while he kept an eye on the lunatic. Then, just as John had hoped, the madman stood up and leaned forward to try and hear him as well.

“Yes, he is saying something isn’t he?” The asshole moved further down the control panel to get closer to Harold and turned his head to listen more deliberately. He closed his eyes to better concentrate on the words.

John seized the moment and moved as quietly as he ever had in his life and lunged for the bastard. He wrapped both hands around the lunatic’s head and slammed it onto the edge of the console.

The impact sent the man reeling and knocked him senseless and semi-conscious. He fell to the floor behind the panel and John hurried around to incapacitate him further.

“You son of a bitch!” John took him by the shirt, picking his stunned body from the floor and shook him violently. “You sick bastard!”

He couldn’t help himself. John brought his fist down numerous times on the man’s face and head. The sting of hitting skull and bone to his knuckles felt good as he watched his foray bring about swelling and blood to the man’s despised appearance.

“John stop!” the man pleaded with each blow, “Think of Mister Finch!” he cried out as he tried to protect his head from the vicious punches. “He’ll die without me!” he tried at last.

John finally stopped and breathed heavily as he looked down at the battered face of the fiend that had practically killed his partner.


	26. Part Five - alternate ending

“I think you broke my nose,” the bastard whined. He was breathing heavily, panting from the exertion of shielding himself as best he could from John’s ambidextrous flurry of blows to his head and arms. John stopped his onslaught abruptly and the dazed man touched his cheeks and nose tentatively for indications of how bad his face had suffered.

John looked at him angrily and punched him once more, directly in the nose. Blood now flowed from the abused appendage copiously.

“There you piece of shit, there’s no question about it now.” John bent down and shoved the asshole over savagely so that he now laid flat on his stomach as he panted through the pain of splintered cartilage throughout his nasal cavity. 

John forcibly held his face to the floor while the bastard squirmed and yelped beneath the knee against his back. John looked over to the side, to the console. It had an abundance of dials and knobs, displays of every kind of monitoring system John had ever seen in one mechanism and then some. 

There were multiple live video feeds of the grounds as well and inside various rooms, including the one they were in. The panel truly was a marvel of precision and ingenuity. The madman had not understated the table’s extremely innovative technology. 

Harold’s entire body was being monitored with precision from his heart rate and blood pressure to his temperature and breathing rate. It measured his weight right down to pounds and ounces, even going so far as kilograms. 

In addition, the extensive digital readouts were exacting and though not a doctor, John was frightened by the numbers he was seeing that represented Harold’s vital statistics. His blood pressure and oxygen levels were dangerously out of normal range, fluctuating irregularly and causing John to feel panic rising in him once again. He consciously looked away from the numbers, he knew it was bad and he couldn't let himself fixate on them and lose focus now. He continued to scan the highly detailed control panel further staring at what he was up against in dread.

Then John's eyes found the display of Harold's entire body as he lay stretched out painfully on the monstrous table.

He looked closer for a moment at the most impressive but terrifying of the displays, it was an x-ray of sorts. It was positioned from the table itself indicating Harold’s skeletal frame directed upward from the underside of his body. What John saw there made his chest tighten as the grim reality sunk into his brain at just how dire the situation actually was. 

The line of Harold’s body, from his lower back down his spine, appeared to be misaligned by a mile and his upper spine where it met his skull was also off by a substantial degree. John could see the pins and plates affixed to his skeletal frame clearly where they were pulled loose and bent from every location they were attached to. His left hip joint was dislocated and the trauma to the muscles and tendons around it and various other areas throughout his abused frame, including every socket of every limb, was obvious in the sickening display of his muscular structure. 

John swallowed down the painful truth of his partner’s extreme injuries and marveled the fact that Harold was still alive after everything his body had been forced to endure. He turned back to the monster and he pushed his face harder into the floor.

“John… please!” the asshole begged. “I’ll help you if you’ll only let me.”

John leaned forward putting more pressure to the lunatics back with his knee. “You’re done you son of a bitch.” John buried his hand into the man’s hair and raised his head while still maintaining the position of his knee as leverage. The animal cried out in agony from the pressure to his spine as John pulled his head up further from the floor.

“Please!” he wailed in pain. “Think of him!”

“It’s a lot different when you’re the one at someone else’s mercy, isn’t it?” John leaned in to speak directly into the monster's ear as he gasped desperately for air, “You’re dead you freak,” he stated harshly then let go of the man’s hair. He then brought his fist down to the base of his skull hard, instantly rendering him unconscious.

Time was of the essence. He had to get Harold out of this death trap immediately. He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed Shaw as he hauled the unconscious fiend around the console and dropped him on the floor unceremoniously at the end of the table… at Harold’s feet. 

“What’s going on?” Shaw asked irritably, “What’s happening?”

“Are you and Lionel where I told him to be? Did you bring an ambulance?” John couldn’t speak the words fast enough; his adrenalin was pumping furiously as he put his fingers against Harold’s throat, checking his pulse.

“Yeah, we’re ready to go,” she answered. “What the fuck’s going on Reese?”

“There’s no time Shaw, just hurry up and get here!” John was seriously concerned. He could only feel a weak and thready pulse from Harold as his partner laid absolutely still and stared above him, unblinkingly, at the ceiling.

“Finch…?” He put his hand on Harold’s cheek and stroked his thumb across the warm damp skin tenderly, “You’re going to be okay now; I’m getting you out of here.”

Harold murmured something so quietly John couldn’t understand what he’d said but at least he made some semblance of a response.

John took his hand away hesitantly from the beloved man and looked over toward the end of the table. The asshole hadn’t moved a bit and John had a momentary feeling of satisfaction when he looked down at the animal. 

He wanted to take him apart; he wanted to use every ounce of loathing he had in his soul to guide his hands and murder the bastard slowly and unrelentingly.

“John…?” Harold asked weakly, his voice now only a hoarse whisper. He was still transfixed by whatever he was envisioning in his mind; he didn’t look at John when he called for him. He didn’t move a fraction.

John took Harold’s hand in his own, “I’m here Finch.” He squeezed the limp appendage comfortingly but got nothing in return. “Talk to me please,” he answered, feeling tears stinging his eyes.

“It’s over…?” he asked weakly and with great effort. He thought he could just make out the sounds of some sort of struggle but couldn’t be certain of what it was. 

“Yes, Harold,” John choked out.

“She’s safe?" He fought to speak again. His world was shrinking to only a pinpoint of certainty and he was weary and on the undercurrent of sleep. 

He could feel the blackness pulling him through the bog of his existence. He wanted it to erase everything from him, from his thoughts, from his awareness, from everything that tied him to the world as it was.

“She’s safe, Finch.”

A small smile then played on his lips. “I’m… so tired…” he slurred. Harold wasn’t showing any indications of being in pain and that scared the hell out of John. 

He couldn’t let him go to sleep, as much as he wanted it for him, he couldn’t allow it. Harold was too weak and was dead if he closed his eyes again and John knew it. 

Now John had to hope that whatever the last concoction of drugs the madman had Harold subjected to would be enough to keep him going until Shaw got there. 

He prayed that she could do an evaluation to determine the proper steps that would need to be taken to stabilize him in time. Then he could figure out how to get him off the table without killing him or any of the rest of them in the process.

#

A rushing sound came to Harold’s ears but he couldn’t move any part of his body; he was paralyzed and was finding it difficult to think, to process anything. 

He allowed his mind to wander and suddenly there she was, “Grace,” he breathed. She was there, just in the distance, just in the range of his vision. 

She didn’t see him and he didn’t want her to. He was content to watch her lovely visage from the expanse. Then she turned slowly and caught sight of him. 

“No… don’t.” In an instant, she was there and laid her hand on his cheek tenderly. He focused on the warmth against his skin, in the love and acceptance in her eyes and sighed. “Grace…” He was in heaven and closed his eyes to better focus on her touch... never wanting the feeling to end.

 

Then Harold felt her touch on his shoulder and he was happy to be in this realm forever, having Grace with him, to soothe his tired body and mind.

#

John touched Harold’s face again then removed it and put it on his shoulder and squeezed gently when Harold closed his eyes. 

The name of the woman he loves came from his lips and John swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat.

He wanted to let him be but couldn’t chance it. He had to keep him conscious, the alternative was too difficult to contemplate.

“Finch… open your eyes for me.” John squeezed again and watched the smile fade from Harold’s mouth nervously. "Harold, wake up,” he tried again and shook his shoulder firmer but still got no reaction. 

“Harold please!” He looked at his watch, they would be here any minute and Shaw would save his life but would it be too little too late? 

Of course not, he admonished himself, she would, there was no other option.


	27. Part Six - Alternate ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I'm almost done trying to predict how much more there will need to be to finish this out. I felt compelled once again to put something out there just so I can assure everyone that I haven't given up on this story. I hope no one has lost interest but I guess we'll see. If you don't mind leaving a comment... good, bad or indifferent I would be grateful. Thanks again to everybody who has stuck by this torturous fic, I truly appreciate the support!

John heard them rushing down the hallway. Shaw and Lionel were finally there.

He could hear them approaching the room noisily, pushing what he knew would be a gurney. Shaw would be there momentarily and she would pull Harold from the brink… she would, John kept telling himself. She would save him.

There was a moment of complete disbelief that the torment was finally over. The physical and psychological torture was through.

John’s mind went blank and all he could hear, for an indistinct period of time, was white noise sounding loud in his ears while his mind tried to process the reality of it.

His heart clenched in his chest; he was both thrilled and terrified of what was yet to come and the uncertainty was going to eat him alive.

He looked down at his suffering partner and was brought back to the moment and out of the shock he was in by the calm and serene expression on Harold’s face.

John put his hand over his heart to feel it beating weakly beneath his fingertips.

Wherever Harold’s mind was focused now was somewhere peaceful it seemed and John was happy for it.

He was only sorry that they’d have to disturb his refuge from agony but they would have to get him stabilized. Get him off the detestable table and to a medical facility as soon as possible.

“ _You have to go back my love_ ,’ Grace smiled at him warmly and stroked his cheek, “ _your friends are here to take care of you now_.”

“Please let me stay with you,” Harold closed his eyes and nuzzled her hand that was pressed against his face then brought it to his lips and kissed the inside of her palm lovingly. “Please, Grace… I need you.”

Tears ran from the corner of Harold’s closed eyelids. John knew that he was having some kind of interaction with someone in his mind and he hated to interrupt him... but he had to. They were almost to the room and time was of the essence.

John ran his hand gently over his cheek and smiled down at him sadly.

Harold’s eyelids fluttered and John could feel the tension change under his hand. The emotionally charged atmosphere was felt tangibly in the air and John regretted what he’d had to do as soon as Harold opened his eyes.

He couldn’t speak. He was too overcome with grief in losing Grace’s warm presence. Even though he understood it was only a dream; he didn’t have the strength or desire to try to talk.

He took a deep shuddering breath and as he exhaled, that’s when the pain overwhelmed him again.

“Hold on Finch… we’re almost out of here. Just hang on a little longer.” John’s heart threatened to break when he saw the look of agony cross Harold’s features again.

He felt awful and tried to direct Harold's mind away from the pain he was experiencing and onto what was about to happen.

Just as John was about to open his mouth to explain to Harold that Shaw and Fusco were there, he looked towards the doorway and saw their two team mates stopped dead in their tracks.

Both Shaw and Fusco gaped in shock at what they were seeing. “Jesus Christ, what went on here?” Shaw was the one to speak while Lionel was clueless as to what he could say in response to the horrific scene.

Lionel’s mouth hung open as he peered around the gore-splattered room and then fell upon Harold’s pale, bloodied, and battered form strapped to the table.

He couldn’t look away from the injuries that had been inflicted on his friend, “My God…” he whispered, immobilized in disbelief.

John clenched his jaw tight and rushed over to meet them at the doorway, taking a fleeting glance at the unconscious monster laying at the end of the table as he went by. He had to stop himself from crushing the man’s skull under his foot.

Shaw shook herself mentally and pushed Lionel out of the way and went inside.

She pushed the gurney through the doorway while John guided it to sit next to the console until they were ready to use it.

John saw that she had prepared for just about everything. She had put together an extensive trauma package that sat strapped to the rolling bed.

He looked at her and smiled. “You said to be ready… I took you seriously,” she stated.

There was an Ambu-Bag, a defibrillator, blood pressure cuff, mobile EKG reader, epinephrine, needles of varying sizes, a suture kit, and a few other things he didn’t recognize.

He felt a lot better with Shaw taking control and followed her over to stand beside Harold as she put the BP cuff on his upper arm and started the compressions.

John looked down at Harold and started relaying everything that had been done to him while Shaw went to work.

While there was no audible or visual reaction from Shaw, he heard Lionel stifle a sob as he stood behind him listening to the details.

Harold had nodded out again by the time the cuff was put on his upper arm but as soon as Shaw began pumping air through it and it tightened viselike around the sensitive limb, Harold woke up terrified and began struggling.

“Please, stop!” he cried weakly and tried to pull free.

“Harold! It’s me, Sameen... it’s okay. I’m not trying to hurt you.” Shaw had stopped what she was doing and put her hand on his shoulder and leaned over him so he could see her.

Harold quieted down and looked at her with exhaustion permeating every inch of his face and she couldn’t help herself. To her surprise, she felt a tear come to her eye and choked up at the sight of him.

“Miss Shaw…” he whispered, relieved and stopped fighting. “I’m sorry…” he closed his eyes again and fell unconscious.

“Why in the hell haven’t you unstrapped him!?” She asked John spitefully.

“It’s not as simple as that!” he shot back at her. “Don’t you think I would have gotten him off this goddam table if I could have!”

Lionel cleared his throat and spoke up, “Okay settle down you two, what do we have to do to get him out of this hell hole?”

John took a step back and looked at the monster still lying on the floor as he was just starting to come around. “We make that bastard help us… and if he doesn’t…” John walked over to the vile beast and grabbed a hand full of his hair and pulled him off the floor, “we’ll make him sorry.”


	28. Part Seven - Alternate ending

“John, we have to get Harold stabilized immediately. His BP is way too low and dropping; he’s going to bottom out and we’ll lose him. I need to get some fluids in him before anything else can happen, but I can’t get to him properly with all of these straps in the way.” Shaw checked Harold over as best she could, but it was more difficult than it needed to be, and she was pissed. “I need to be able to get to him, dammit!” 

“We can’t do anything with the table yet,” John informed them emphatically. “It’s electrified… one wrong move and we kill him and possibly ourselves in the process. This piece of garbage is going to tell us how to turn it off.” John let go of the bastard’s hair with a vicious shove and the madman struggled to his knees as he dazedly came back to his senses.

“Who the hell is this guy?” Lionel asked impatiently, looking him over, searching his memory for any sort of recollection. 

Shaw concentrated on checking Harold out visually. She had to be careful with him physically, not knowing exactly what state his body was in. She put a stethoscope in her ears and listened to his stressed heart struggling to keep him alive.

“This sonofabitch is Alistair Wesley’s asshole brother and he’s just as psychotic and depraved as he is,” John snarled. 

“You gotta be shitting me…” Lionel couldn’t believe there was another monster the likes of Alistair Wesley on the planet, and to be his brother? And to go after Finch a second time…? It was unbelievable and Lionel was stunned.

“John! We have to get Harold stabilized… now!” Shaw was stressing out. 

She’d be damned if she lost Finch because some psycho was being uncooperative. “If you don’t do something about it, I will! Let me at him. I’ll make him talk.”

“Sit up, you bastard. Listen to me!” John kneeled down face to face with the lunatic and glared at him. He took a calming breath so he didn’t kill the fiend outright. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t kill him… not yet.

The man blinked his eyes to clear away the cobwebs from his vision and took a deep breath as he looked around. When he fully realized he was in deep shit, he clammed up immediately.

“Now… I’m only going to tell you once you low-life,” John began menacingly. “You’re going to tell me exactly how to turn everything off on that table of yours, so I can get my friend off of it without so much as another scratch… you got me!?”

The vile beast just looked at John and grinned wickedly while John fisted his hands. He fought to keep himself from beating the holy hell out of him before they got what they needed.

The monster knew that as long as Harold was still bound securely to the table, he still had a huge amount of power over them.

John knew it wasn’t going to be easy, he pushed the bastard over roughly and started tying him up while he thought about how he was going to make him talk.

#

Shaw busied herself with getting IV solutions ready. If she didn’t keep her mind focused on that, she would surely be hammering the shit out of the lunatic.

“Lionel get over here!” Shaw demanded. “I want you to hold his hand and talk to him.”

“What…?” he asked, startled. “What am I supposed to say?”

Shaw looked at him earnestly, “It doesn’t matter Lionel. He just needs to feel that he’s not alone… even if he can’t hear you or respond.” Lionel looked at the lethal little spitfire and suddenly realized something about her. 

Shaw was much more human than she let on and he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

He felt his heart open up to her more in that moment than he ever thought possible. Shaw was scared to death that she wasn’t going to be able to save Harold. To Lionel's astonishment, she allowed him to see that fear in her eyes. 

He was deeply touched and honored that she let him have that. He would never have thought she’d ever let him, or anyone else, see any emotion like that coming from her. 

Lionel nodded, trying not to make a show of the moment and took Harold’s hand in his. He was shocked to find the appendage stone cold and tried to warm it by pressing it between his own two warm ones and rubbing them together gently. 

He looked at Harold’s wan appearance sadly and swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat.

The disheartening image of his gentle friend lying there, so close to death, was horrible and he wished with all his heart that it hadn’t happened to him. 

Lionel had never personally known anyone in his entire life that he could honestly say was a true humanitarian apart from Harold. 

He was painfully aware that the chances weren’t good for their friend and felt sick about it.

He choked back his emotions and did as Shaw told him to. 

“Hey… hey professor, you gotta hang in there, ok?” He cleared his throat and continued to try and get through to Harold. 

Shaw was preparing to insert the IV needle into the catheter that remained in the top of Harold’s left hand.

“Hey… John needs you. We wouldn’t know how to keep him on a leash the way you do. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.” He swallowed again, “Hell… we all need you, Finch. You’re the captain of this ship and none of us could sail it without you.”

Lionel leaned closer over Harold and a tear fell from his eye and landed on Harold’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he apologized and let go of Harold’s hand. 

He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it away. As he dabbed at the wetness, Harold opened his weary eyes and looked into Lionel’s. 

“I’m not… going anywhere, detective,” he replied quietly and smiled as best he could.

Lionel stood up startled for a second then grinned at him, “Damn right you’re not,” he replied, thankful that Harold had woken up, “John, get over here, he’s awake.”

John had just finished zip tying the monster up and left him hog-tied lying on his side and rushed over to the table. 

“Finch…!” John hurried to his side. “We’re going to get you out of here but we have to do it right." He looked over at the monster, “and this lunatic is going to tell us exactly how to do it… aren’t you, asshole?” John let every violent, menacing emotion he felt permeate his words as he glared at the animal.

“John… do you honestly think you can trust this bastard to tell you the truth?” Shaw interjected as she checked Harold’s pupils for reaction time.

“Yes, I do Shaw,” John glared at the animal, “because if he doesn’t I will personally kill his brother in the most horrific way imaginable.” John grinned wickedly at the monster, “And I think by the time we get him back here in the states, I will have mastered this table and I will put his brother on it while he is the one forced to watch.”


	29. Part Eight - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tissue alert! Yes another one, please forgive my love of the dramatic tearjerker cliffhangers... I can't seem to help myself.

The monster finally spoke up, “Do you really think there’s time for that John?” he spoke from the floor and still had the audacity to look at John and grin, infuriatingly him further. “Your friend will be dead in a matter of hours, if not sooner, so your threats are useless. He’s dead one way or another, as long as he’s strapped to my table.”

John couldn’t, nor wanted to stop himself, he walked over to the bastard and kicked him hard in the ribs, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him. Shaw watched on in delight and Lionel cringed.

“You don’t get it, you son of a bitch,” John started, then brought the bottom of his shoe down on the side of the man’s face violently, dazing the monster for a few seconds. “You and your brother are dead no matter the outcome here!” He leaned over, “but one way or another, you’re going to tell me how to release my friend.”

“Your threats mean nothing to me,” he grinned again and spit blood at John’s feet.

Harold was oblivious to anything happening around him as his body lay trembling and fighting just to pump oxygen to his lungs and to keep him alive.

Shaw removed John’s suit jacket from around his upper body. She kept her rage in check as she saw what she could of the damage and blood stains on Harold's pale skin; the horrific evidence of the abuse that he’d withstood for hours on end.

She quickly replaced it snuggly with two fleece blankets she’d brought from the ambulance and very carefully placed another under his injured head.

She would leave the haphazardly applied bandages for now until she could take care of more pressing issues. She hoped to be able to anyway.

“Lionel, take off your jacket and wrap it around his feet, he’s freezing!” he immediately complied. “His circulation has been cut off for too long. We have to get some heat back into him and some movement as soon as possible.”

The pain that radiated through Harold’s entire frame was now one massive, unending wave of agony; cresting and falling along an infinite stream of suffering and leading him into the pits of hell.

He was in limbo, another plane that paralleled the living but more akin to the dead. He could only distantly hear commotion in his periphery but didn’t have the energy or the desire to focus on it. He was on the precipice of destiny and only needed to fall a short distance one way or the other.

John picked the asshole up by the scruff of his neck and threw him down to the floor violently and for good measure, he kicked him in the ribs again. He was unhinged for a minute until he vaguely heard his partner’s weak voice behind him.

“I… I’m not sure,” Harold whispered softly, as in answer to an unspoken question, wincing as he opened his eyes he gazed unfocused to the ceiling directly above him.

His desolate red-rimmed eyes stood out in stark relief against his sallow and sickly complexion and showed nothing but pain and anguish behind them.

His normally bright, clear blue irises were now clouded over and the dark circles underneath were a pitiful and heartbreaking sight to see.

John rushed back over to him and Lionel moved closer as well and choked back a sob at the sight of his friend’s anguished struggle to survive.

The weak and almost silent remark had gotten everyone’s attention, “You’re not sure of what, Harold?” Shaw prompted gently and rested her hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve given all I can…” he started again feebly, “I’m not sure I’m going to… pull through this time… I want… I need to…” his words trailed off and he mercifully fell unconscious again.

John hesitantly walked away from his suffering partner and back towards the lunatic with his hands balled up tightly into fists.

He fought down his despair and channeled it into hatred as he picked him roughly to sit up from the floor. He pushed him forcefully against the wall with his bound legs awkwardly supporting his body beneath them and stood up and looked down at the evil, sadistic lunatic with hatred coming off of him in waves.

John stood over the man who’d now gone quiet, “Shaw?” John began darkly. “Do you have anything resembling pliers in your gear?” John never lost eye contact with the monster while he asked the foreboding question, he just glared daggers at him.

“The closest thing I have are some surgical forceps, why? What do you have in mind?” she asked and grinned maliciously at the asshole. “You want to cut off the circulation to his dick? Cuz I for one would be all for it.”

The man swallowed hard, but still had nothing to say as he looked back at John with indignation and spite.

“Wait, better yet, what type of blades do you have?” he asked ominously.

“What are you looking for? I have just about anything you’d need cut through skin, flesh or bone out in the bus. I could go get it and be back in a jiffy if you want me to.”

Lionel stood by Harold’s unconscious body quietly and observed the coarse exchange in shock and dread. He'd heard enough shit talking, threatening bad-ass talk enough in his day from co-workers and the like, hell he'd done his share too but working with the team the past few years had changed him for the better and working with Finch had changed his idea of right and wrong when it came to violence soon after. Right now he wasn't sure if his team mates were going to cross the line that Harold had drawn since they'd started working for the non-violent man and it scared him.

John kneeled down until he was face to face with the bastard. “He’s a pro at doling out pain... I’m curious to see how much pain this worthless piece of shit can withstand himself.”

“I guarantee you he’s not even half the man Harold is, he’d been dead a long time ago for sure if he was the one on the receiving end.” She added scornfully.

Lionel was compelled to interject and was, surprisingly, the voice of reason. “John… maybe we should ask Finch what he wants to do with this guy.”

John stood up and walked over to him. Lionel saw the look of ferocity and intense loathing in John’s eyes and for a moment he was frightened by it.

John looked down at his partner who still laid seemingly unaware, but obviously experiencing unspeakable pain, even in his unconscious state.

Lionel saw the muscles in John's jaw working as he attempted to restrain his anger.

Lionel and Shaw looked down at Harold sadly too. John quietly took Lionel by the arm and led him around the console and pointed at the display of Harold’s shuddering form as he lay there on the monstrous table.

Lionel gaped in shock at the x-ray of the misaligned skeletal structure of Harold’s body.

He was no doctor, but there was no doubting the trauma that had been done to his frame and surrounding tissue. He suddenly felt very ill for a moment.

John didn’t have to say a word and as he watched Lionel, he saw the change almost instantly in his expression and demeanor at what he was seeing laid out in front of his horrified eyes.

Then Lionel looked up at John, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and nodded at him. He now understood fully and couldn’t help himself, he felt the same way too.

Shaw was dabbing at the sweat on Harold’s damp brow when John left Lionel at the console. He was taking in all the various knobs and switches as John headed back to the table. She looked up at him as he stood across from his poor partner.

She shook her head sadly and met John’s sorrowful eyes, “He’s not going to make it.”

John’s eyes teared up watching Harold’s traumatized body tremble and knew that she was right if a miracle didn't happen immediately, “How long do you think he has?” he choked out.

Shaw found it difficult to speak through her outrage and grief but persevered nonetheless. “I can’t answer that. I’m amazed he’s still alive.”

“Is there anything we can do from here?” John asked helplessly.

“Not as long as I can’t get to him physically. There’s no way I can do a proper diagnosis and begin any treatment when I can’t get to him, John!” Shaw’s nerves were frayed and though she tried to keep her voice level, there was no mistaking the anger and hatred permeating her words. “Even then... I’m not sure I would be able to stabilize him enough for transport before his heart gives out.”

“Then there’s only one thing we can do,” John began. “we have to get him released from this contraption on our own.” John looked over at the monster.

The lunatics eyes narrowed, “You want to die too, John?" He asked defiantly.

“If that’s what it’s going to take. I’m willing to do what I have to.” John snapped back, barely able to control himself.

Lionel remained at the console concentrating on it and searching his memory for what he’d learned in the electrical trade school he’d gone to as a young man.

At one time, he’d thought of becoming an electrician but a violent incident shortly after the course ended, directed his path toward the criminal justice field.

He studied the board diligently. He was unwillingly impressed by the horrific intricacies of the console and its specific design for torture. It was an amazing and terrifying machine and Lionel understood that only a sadistic lunatic could have designed it. The disgust ranked up in his opinion of the madman.

Finch stirred on the table and opened his weary eyes again to stare blindly above him.

“Father…?” he asked quietly, seemingly confused and deep in thought.

Shaw looked up at John in question. John shook his head, oblivious as to what it could mean.

“Please forgive me…” he stated emotionally and hesitated as tears pooled in his eyes.

They could tell that he wasn’t aware of where he was or what was happening as he whispered almost inaudibly.

“Is Harold... Catholic?” Shaw asked, thinking that maybe Harold was confessing his sins to an invisible entity.

John shook his head, “No, he’s agnostic.”

Then John suddenly understood. The idea he had was confirmed when Harold spoke further and the tears spilled over and ran down either side of his pale face, leaving behind a wet trail of sorrow and regret.

“I’m so sorry, my child… my daughter...” he whispered then suddenly sobbed and closed his eyes, “I’m so sorry…”

John’s heart threatened to break as he realized that Harold had evidently been holding his acceptance of the Machine as a sentient being deep inside him... privately, for a very long time.

He opened his tearful eyes again and seemed to be somewhat more cognizant as he found Shaw’s eyes first… watching him. “Tell her, Miss Shaw… please… you must.”

Shaw took a deep breath and put her hand on his damp cheek. She stroked it with her thumb tenderly. She smiled at him and nodded, not trusting her voice. The dire circumstances and reality of the situation was getting to her emotionally much to her dismay. 

_Harold smiled up at her, then turned his eyes and looked into John’s. “You’ll be there too, John?” he asked weakly. “Please…?”_

__

John swallowed hard, “You’ll tell her yourself, Harold.” He swallowed again, “We’re getting you out of here, very soon.”

__

Harold regarded his partner and his smile faded, “I’m afraid… not soon enough John…” he then closed his exhausted eyes once again and his trembling body went still as his breathing stopped.

__


	30. Part Nine - Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More drama ensues! The situation is dire and the team bands together and does their best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but I felt the urge to post something, so here we are. Please feel free to leave a comment, good, bad or indifferent. A sincere thanks to you all for hanging in there! Poor Harold! 
> 
> He is going to make it I promise! Even he can't survive much more, lololol.
> 
> Disclaimer - I know nothing about any of the medical procedures that are depicted here. They sounded good so I used them, hehe.

“Shit!” Shaw rushed to grab the stethoscope off the gurney.

John put his fingers against Harold’s carotid artery, checking for a pulse. His own heart sank when he couldn’t detect a heartbeat under his fingertips and his fear quickly turned to alarm.

Shaw pulled the blanket down and put the ear-tips in and laid the bell over Harold’s heart. She moved the chest piece around the area until she found a feeble sound emanating through the diaphragm of the instrument. 

“He’s got a heartbeat,” she stated tensely, “it’s extremely weak, but it’s there.” 

They were far from out of the woods, but she’d take what she could get and do her best to run with it. 

“John get ready to do chest compressions. We’ve got to get him breathing again, quickly!” Shaw hurriedly covered Harold’s nose and mouth with an Ambu-bag. She looked at John while he anxiously prepared to follow her lead.

She squeezed the bag and they watched Harold’s chest rise and fall artificially twice before Shaw nodded to John to start compressions. 

They worked in tandem while Shaw kept an eye on Harold for any sign of breathing to return on his own. 

Lionel was distracted only for a moment by the frenzied commotion at the table and then quickly turned his attention fully back to the console. 

He searched his memory of the trade school for anything and everything he’d learned about the workings of electrical wiring and switching. 

Then he used that knowledge to figure out what he thought would be the most logical thing to cut power to the table. 

Lionel had never been more grateful than he was right now that he’d paid such close attention to the instructor all those years ago. 

He’d thought about it more than once through the years... 

He thought that he’d probably have been a happy and wealthy professional business man with more money than he’d ever imagined had he stayed his original path instead of becoming a detective. 

But then he wouldn’t have met this dysfunctional group of people… people that he’d come to think of as family. 

He didn’t really know where he’d be today if they hadn’t come into his life and he was grateful for them… not that he’d ever say it to their faces. 

He was interrupted from his absorption and concentration of the control panel when he heard agitated voices coming from the direction of the table.

“Come on Harold!” John encouraged his partner as Shaw took a deep breath and halted their efforts just long enough to listen to Harold’s heartbeat a second time and check his breathing.

“No! No. Goddammit. We lost him!” Shaw couldn’t find anything this time and looked at John in shock and then anger as she was powerless to do anything. The straps were directly in the way of the defibrillator. 

“Shaw get the paddles ready! I’m releasing the straps!” John exclaimed frantically.

“John, stop for one second!” Lionel shouted, “I know what to do!” 

He didn’t really know for sure, but Lionel had to try. They had no other choice. Harold was dead for sure if he didn’t do something.

Lionel flipped a switch on the board and the entire atmosphere of the room changed. It was as if all of the electrical energy was simply sucked out and vanished into thin air around them.

The monster began screaming at the sudden turn of events, “No! You couldn't have! You couldn’t have figured it out!” he yelled, “You can’t know how! This is my creation!” he continued screaming vehemently, but no one in the room paid him any attention as he was wearing himself out with his tirade, sputtering and stammering in outrage and disbelief still bound firmly with zip-ties. 

Lionel yelled over his mad ravings, “Now, John!” The team pulled together and went to work on their beloved leader and friend. 

Shaw furiously yanked the blankets out of the way and released the strap over Harold’s abdomen while John pulled the one directly over Harold’s chest open. 

He was free, at last Harold was no longer forced to lay completely restrained and controlled at every turn. They had to revive him… he had to know that they did it. John prayed that all of their efforts now weren’t in vain. 

Lionel hurried around and stood at the ready for whatever they might ask of him. 

Shaw turned to the defibrillator and hit the switch, turning it on and quickly applied a small amount of gel to one of the paddles and rubbed the two together to even out the ointment.

“Powering on! Stand clear!” Shaw ordered and put one of the paddles over Harold’s heart and the other over the opposite side of his chest, a bit lower. 

As the machine made a high pitched sound. Shaw began the electrical charge that would hopefully bring their friend back to life. Harold’s upper torso lifted from the table for a moment then dropped back down hard with no result. 

The violent action made Lionel turn away. He couldn’t watch it happen again as he heard the machine power up for a second time.

“Again. Clear!” She ordered and shocked him once more… still with no result.

John watched on helplessly and clenched his teeth together painfully as Shaw made an adjustment to the machine and hit Harold uselessly with a third jolt of electricity.

“No! You are not doing this, Finch!” she bit out and tried a fourth time, still to no avail. “Not when we're so close.”

John took in a deep breath and almost stumbled backwards at the thought of Harold dying right in front of him when they finally had the chance to save him.

Lionel choked back a sob and walked towards the monster who now laid quiet but for his heavy breathing. 

He glared at the heartless fiend as he lay in an ungainly heap on the floor near the wall. He wanted to kill him for putting all of them through this nightmare. 

He wanted him to suffer the way he’d made Harold suffer. 

The monster stared back at him, unmoved by the futile attempt to revive their brilliant, gentle friend. 

Lionel felt heat rising up in him becoming almost unbearable, and for one second, he thought about putting a bullet in the guy’s brain and removing his worthless existence from the planet. 

But that wouldn’t be right. 

For all of Harold’s compassionate and infuriating belief that all lives mattered, that no one person should come before another, Lionel would honor his friend’s altruistic mindset and not kill the bastard. 

As much as he wanted retribution and ached to kill him, he wouldn’t dishonor Harold’s wishes by acting wholly against his conviction and creed for life.


	31. Part Ten - Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We should be getting a little closer to the end guys! Famous last words, I know, lol.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated as everyone knows by now, thanks again to you all!

“John!” Shaw snapped. “Get your ass over here!” She looked hard at him, “you said that this table reads all of Finch’s vitals, right?” she demanded hurriedly.

John shook himself and went over to the same side of the table that she was standing on. He looked at her like he was lost.  
“Is he…?” John mumbled incomprehensibly.

“John! Get with the program! We aren’t done here yet!” she exclaimed impatiently. “And neither is he!” she nodded towards Harold’s lifeless form and immediately began doling out directives.

“Listen to me. I want you to hold the paddles against his chest, right here.” She put the electrodes in John’s unsteady hands and positioned them to hover precisely where they needed to lay on Harold’s exposed chest. “Man up! You’ve seen me do this. When I say the word, I need you press down with about twenty-five pounds of pressure.” 

She didn’t give John any time to second guess himself, then turned to Lionel, “And I want you, to watch out for his neck. He’s gonna come off the table so I need you to make sure he is stabilized and doesn’t damage his neck any more than it probably is, so as soon as the jolt has finished, do what you can.” 

Lionel was nervous, she could tell, but she didn’t have time to baby either one of them. 

She didn’t really need him to do anything, but she assigned him a task to help keep his mind off of the grim situation at hand. “Whatever you do Lionel, don’t touch him until the charge has finished. You don’t want to know what it feels like… trust me!”

Neither of them knew exactly what she had in mind but did as they were told. There was no question in either of their minds that Shaw knew what she was doing.

She quickly fidgeted with the defibrillator for a second, then powered it up as Lionel looked at John anxiously.

As the men complied and waited for their next instructions, Shaw rushed around to the console and checked the readouts of Harold’s vital signs. 

Harold’s heart rate showed a flat line, just as she suspected. There was nothing to see… all of the numbers indicated that Harold was officially dead on the table. 

She wasn’t going to let it be. She wouldn’t let herself or her teammates down and most of all, she wouldn’t let Harold down.

She was going to bring him back.

“John, on my mark…. three, two, one, now!” Shaw commanded and watched the display keenly with her fingers crossed.

He didn’t give himself any time to think about it. John pressed the paddles firmly to Harold’s chest and could almost feel the surge of energy travel through them. 

He cringed, terrified but committed to his undertaking as Harold’s entire upper body arched then collapsed straightaway.

Lionel watched fearfully and did his best to help after the impact of the violent action by putting his hands on the tops of Harold’s shoulders ineffectually, waiting for something visibly to happen. 

Both of them were thrown when Harold’s eyes flew open and he gasped instinctively for air.

“That’s it, God dammit!” Shaw shouted excitedly as she watched Harold’s heartbeat and blood pressure miraculously appear on the display. “That was the one!”

She ran back over to the table and they all watched with a mixture of elation and heartache as Harold fought valiantly to fill his lungs with oxygen, pulling in short desperate breaths.

It was painful for them to watch the agony and the panic that filled their friend’s eyes as he tried to comprehend what the hell was happening to him. 

Harold was dazed beyond measure and could only register the hurt in his injured body. He had no idea yet where he was or what was going on around him.

“You’re okay Finch…” John tried to calm his partner, “it’s going to be alright, we got you back.”

Then, to their utter stupefaction they heard the monster begin to laugh.

They all looked at each other, dumbfounded for a second, while Harold lay still and quiet but for the deep, stinging intakes of air he now drew.

“Oh, hell no.” Shaw stated and walked in his direction while John and Lionel remained quiet and powerless to do anything but watch Harold’s distress play out in his pale exhausted features.  
#  
“You think your friend is really going to be okay after what he went through on my table?” the fiend mocked. 

Shaw knelt down to establish eye contact with him, “Yeah I do, but you wanna know what’s not going to happen?”

The monster didn’t answer. He just stared at Shaw defiantly with a smug look on his face.

“You’re not leaving this room…” she stated and grinned at him. “Alive anyway.”

“Shaw!” John called her over in a panic.

She glared at the monster then stood up and hurried over to the table. She wasn’t done with the animal by a long shot but more pressing issues were at hand.

“He’s not indicating that he knows where he is.” John was scared out of his mind to see such a brilliant mind reduced and muddled into incoherency as Harold seemed to be now.

“Calm down John,” she pressed. “It’s going to take a little while for him to get his bearings. He’s dazed right now; he just had a hell of a dose of electricity conducted through his system.” 

Shaw pointed at the blankets, “Cover him up, he’s in shock.” She leaned over to look into Harold’s unfocused eyes and could visually see the depth of despair staring back at her. 

It made her heart ache, “Finch?” she tried but got no response whatsoever, “Harold, listen… we’re here now. The lunatic is not going to hurt anyone ever again, I promise… you’re safe.”

“Grace?” he choked out and began to breathe heavily again.

“Finch, she’s fine. Everyone is fine.” she promised and put her hand on his cheek.

Harold was delirious and began moving around, trying to get up. They all winced watching him recoil from pain with every move he made.

”I may have to sedate him,” Shaw informed them.

“No, you can’t. He’s already got a lethal cocktail of drugs running through his system. Anymore might be just enough to kill him, we can’t risk it.”

Harold began trying to move more in earnest and something had to be done immediately.

“John, he’s only going to exasperate his injuries. We have to get him settled down, quickly.”

“We can’t drug him again, Shaw.” John was adamant in his decision. 

Shaw had no idea what Harold had been made to suffer through with the mixture of stimulants and hallucinogens he’d been subjected to in a relatively short period of time.

He would not subject him to anymore right now; he couldn’t chance it… he wouldn’t chance it.

While Shaw and John went at it, Lionel leaned over and put his hands on either side of Harold’s head and stilled his efforts to move. 

When he looked into his friends eyes, Lionel almost choked up at the fear and misery he saw there. “Hey professor, you gotta relax okay?’

Harold locked on to Lionel’s eyes and a connection was established. 

He almost immediately calmed down. “Detective?” he rasped softly. 

Lionel swallowed down the lump in his throat and Shaw and John stopped their heated exchange to watch the scene play out in front of them.

“Yeah… it’s me,” he smiled.

“Is she safe?” 

“Yes, she’s safe Harold.” 

Finch smiled and closed his eyes, “Thank you.” he whispered then fell unconscious once again.

“Good, that settles that then,” Shaw stated and finished tucking the blankets around their traumatized and tortured friend.

“Now what are we going to do?” The monster spoke up nonchalantly, as if he was a part of them, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Shaw looked at John and a huge grin came to her lips.


	32. Part Eleven - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More heartache for the team.

“First and foremost Shaw, we need to get Harold stabilized and ready to get the hell out of here,” John insisted, “and then we can have some fun with the bastard.” He turned, inclining his head and looked intently at the lunatic.

The monster was not impressed with their posturing and grinned up at John from the floor… taunting him.

“Man, this guy is either fearless or just plain stupid,” Lionel stated as he walked toward the lunatic.

The man never gave Fusco so much as a glance, no acknowledgment in the least, even when he stood in the way of his glaring daggers at John. 

The bastard just looked away, not bothering to look him in the face. Lionel felt the urge to punch the guy and more but tamped down the emotion entirely. 

He wouldn’t let the guy provoke him. He wouldn’t let the lunatic yield that kind of power over him by losing control of himself. 

Right now the only, and the most important thing they all had to focus on, was getting their leader out of this hell hole alive. 

“He’s an animal that needs to be sent to the slaughterhouse,” John replied coldly.

The man snickered and John wanted to kill him again, but there was no time for that right now. 

He and Shaw would deal with him later. The focus needed to be getting Harold transported to a proper venue as soon as humanly possible. 

“You’re right, John. There will be plenty of time to take care of him later, first things first.” Shaw went back to the console and looked at the readouts of Harold’s current state. 

He was in a bad way and when she saw the display that she had neglected to see the first time, she felt dread completely wash over her.

“Oh my god…” She couldn’t restrain herself from letting the remark slip out of her mouth and both men now looked over at her surprised. 

She couldn’t believe how much damage had been done to Harold’s frame and surrounding tissue at the joints, it made her stomach knot up.

“What is it?” John asked nervously.

Shaw swallowed hard and reigned in her alarm as she studied the skeletal structure that was in front of her. 

It was much worse than she had imagined. Even if they were able to get Harold stabile enough physically with his blood pressure and everything else, they didn’t dare try and move him from where he lay. 

One wrong move and it could either kill him or paralyze him and Shaw knew that Harold would never accept being paralyzed… he’d do himself in first.” 

For a moment, Shaw was speechless as her brain tried to figure out how they were going to get Harold off the table and on to the gurney without any major complications. 

They couldn’t just keep him here indefinitely. She didn’t have all of the necessary equipment first off and for another thing, the place reeked of torture and misery. 

She didn’t want to keep Harold here anymore than John did and she was damn sure he wouldn’t want to stay here any longer than he absolutely had to either.

“Shaw…?” John pressed, “What the hell?” John and Lionel were both taken unawares when they heard the slip come from their teammate and he had to know what prompted such a gaffe. 

Shaw was never known to show such uncontrolled emotion without a good reason.

She shook herself and put on a poker face, “never mind,” she stated, “look, I want you,” she looked at Lionel, “to go back out to the bus and bring back the neck brace and every strap you can find… we’re going to have to restrain his body so he doesn’t move an inch.”

John’s heart sank to his stomach at the thought of strapping Harold down. He hated to have to put him through that again now that he was free. 

“Is there no other way?’ he asked anxiously.

“I’m afraid not, John,” she replied. “We need to move as soon as I get some fluids in him and raise his metabolism. He’s too weak at the moment.” 

Lionel nodded, “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” He left the room, glaring at the monster as he went out the door.

“What should I do?” John asked, feeling out of sorts with the idea.

Shaw went back around to the gurney and looked through the bags of solutions she’d brought in with them. 

She looked at Harold lying there as still as death and pursed her lips, “Just stay there for a minute in case he comes around.”

As if on cue, Harold stirred and opened his tired eyes. 

He looked up at the ceiling at first, clearing the cobwebs from his mind. 

When he tried to move his head, he inhaled sharply at the sudden stabbing sensation he felt in the back of his neck and his hand came up reflexively... only to be impeded by the blankets that were enveloping his upper body.

“Finch?” John leaned over him. “Finch, it’s alright, you’re going to be alright.” He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat when he looked into the pain-ridden eyes staring back at him.

Tears of misery came unbidden as Harold laid there, his body one complete pain receptor. Even his lungs hurt and he couldn’t think past the immense and unyielding torment he was experiencing to remember how he got to be in such a sorry state. 

He’d gone through hell in the past, but this new agony couldn’t be touched and he felt as if he was burning up and he was extremely nauseous form the pain and sweat trickled off his face and pooled around his head.

“John…” Harold choked out, "Why can't... I move...?" “It hurts… I can’t… I can’t take it,” he whispered earnestly, beseeching his partner. “Please… please, give me something… I can’t...” 

He closed his eyes and fought off the sickness that collected in his gut. He felt like the need to vomit, but knew instinctively that if he did, it would exacerbate the rest of his injuries. He had to get through it, he couldn’t let himself succumb to the urge.

John swallowed, “I’m so sorry Finch…” He felt horrible that he didn’t dare give him anything for the pain and doused a towel with cold water and wiped the moisture that had suddenly appeared on his face. “We can’t chance putting any more into your bloodstream... It could kill you.”

It was all much more than Harold thought he could bear, he was almost out of his mind with the intense severity of the pain. 

Harold opened his weary eyes and looked deeply into his partner’s, “I’d... rather be dead,” he stated unequivocally. “It’s too much… please... I’m begging you John.” he choked out through his suffering. 

"Finch, please don't say that." John implored, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I know, John... trust me." he whimpered, and bit back the scream of anguish that threatened to spill from his voice.

Tears of agony again flooded his eyes and ran freely from the exhausted orbs. The mere act of breathing and speech was its own form of torture.

Shaw turned toward the men and put a hand on Harold’s arm in support. “Harold, you have to hang in there for right now. I know it’s hard but you have to get through it for a while longer.”

“You don’t know… a God damn thing Miss Shaw.” He retorted cruelly, wincing with every spiteful word that flew out of his mouth. “Either… you give me something… for the pain or leave…! All of you just leave me!” he gasped brokenly.

He lost it and broke down into tears, he couldn't catch his breath and cringed with each sob that tormented his abused body. “Please… please help me…” he pleaded.

John turned to Shaw with tears in his own eyes now… and nodded.

As Shaw turned back to the gurney to find the fentanyl, they heard the monster giggling from the floor.


	33. Part Twelve - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This thing has become the energizer bunny! Even I have no idea when it will finally end.

Lionel came back down the hall toward the room, his task complete, and heard the pitifully weak cries of Finch begging for relief. 

His heart physically ached for the anguish and misery that was heard so obvious from the gentle man’s raw throat. 

As soon as he entered the room, he saw the animal laying there laughing at the heartbreaking scene that he was witnessing. 

John and Shaw were trying to calm down their tormented friend, so Lionel walked past the animal and delivered the provisions onto the gurney with the rest of the supplies. 

John looked at him as Shaw continued to look through the assorted vials and bags of medication she’d brought to administer for potent pain relief that he so clearly needed.

Finch was beside himself with the unending agony running through him and it was a truly unnerving thing to see from the man that was always in control of himself in every regard.

John’s eyes were red and Lionel knew why. He then turned around calmly after sparing a sad glance at the distraught man on the table and walked over to the monster. 

“You’re a son of a bitch,” Lionel exclaimed. 

The man just looked him straight in the eye and grinned, “You don’t know the half of it,” he replied and continued his inappropriate giggling.

The animal didn’t have the good sense to shut up, so Fusco leaned directly over him and punched him with every ounce of strength he possessed in the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

John watched on distractedly, then turned his attention back to his suffering partner who was very near exhaustion but unfortunately not enough to knock him out to release him from his suffering.

“Please John…” he entreated once more before he quieted and breathed laboriously as he’d worn himself out, his whole body now trembling violently in agony.

John wiped his wet face with the cool cloth he’d had from before and put his palm on the side of Harold’s ashen face, stroking it with his thumb.

“Alright, we’re going to give you something Finch. Please hold on… stay with us.”

Harold looked up into John’s eyes and John saw the thanks expressed in them through the ever-present anguish. 

Harold was beyond speech now after the outburst of his pleading, weakness and fatigue took hold and sapped the strength from his lungs to do anything more but manage to keep him breathing. 

Such an action as communicating was beyond his reach for the moment. He could barely move but for the uncontrollable shuddering in his entire body, assaulting him without mercy. 

Not that he wanted to try anymore, for the pain that came with every millimeter of movement was pure agony. 

Sweat formed and gathered in droplets on his forehead as he lay there with his mouth agape and his breath coming in harsh ragged inhales and exhales of misery.

“Shaw, what the hell is taking so long?” John asked irritably.

“Hold your horses, John. I’m trying to find something strong enough to help him.” 

Shaw was quickly trying to find the fentanyl bag so she could hook Harold up with a drip but it wasn’t there.

“Lionel!” she snapped out, “go back and find the bag of fentanyl. It’s not here for some reason.”

“I was just out there. I didn’t see anything else resembling a bag,” he answered derisively.

“Then get the hell back out there and look again!” she ordered.

Harold had closed his eyes, trying to focus his mind away from the distress his body was in. He waited desperately for help out of this hell that was his existence right now. 

It proved impossible and John and Shaw tried to pretend not to hear the irrepressible whimpers of agony that came unintentionally from his throat.

Harold was losing his grip on reality again. He was now suffering from a different kind of torment in conjunction with the corporeal. 

He began to have flashes of frightening images blaze behind his closed eyelids, red hot explosions and people being blown to pieces, limbs flying through the air, Nathan’s dismembered body just out of his reach.  
Lucidity was pulling him further away from reality but the pain remained… the constant and ever present excruciating pain in his poor tortured body. 

“Please…” he whispered weakly again, almost incoherently. He needed a respite from everything happening in his mind and his body now.

John stood by his partner and wiped his brow again. He lifted the blankets that had enveloped his upper torso to allow some cool air to circulate around his hot body. 

Harold opened his eyes and winced from the movement the action made and John felt a stab of regret. “I’m sorry, Harold.”

As he lay there, somewhere between the land of the living and the nadirs of death, he looked up at John and saw a halo of light surrounding him. 

His brows furrowed in confusion and he gathered what strength he could to ask weakly, “Am I… dead?”

He sorely wished he were, that it was all over but he was still in agony. 

Maybe he was in hell? But that couldn’t be because John would surely have had the gates to heaven open wide for him. 

John was here and he looked like an angel. He fought internally to understand what was happening to him. 

“You’re not dead, Harold,” John assured him sadly.

“Please… kill me… then.” he begged weakly and earnestly through more tears of pain and despair that streamed from his eyes.

Lionel rushed back in the room, breaking the grim moment, empty handed. “I tore the back of the ambulance apart Shaw... there’s nothing else in there.

“Jesus Christ!” she exclaimed heatedly. “There’s nothing here that’s going to be strong enough to touch his pain John. I don’t know what we’re going to be able to do for him right now.”

“There’s something you could do,” the monster spoke up after just coming to and hearing the distress coming from the table.

“Shut up, you son of a bitch!” Shaw shot back bitterly and John hurried over to kneel in front of the bound and prone form on the floor. 

“Look, John,” he started quickly, ignoring Shaw all together, “there’s things in the fridge over there that could help your friend.” 

He waited to asses John’s reaction before he dare go any further. John was quiet, gaging him, knowing that the monster was not to be trusted, but having very few options open to them at this very moment. 

Harold had to have something immediately to help ease his torment and suffering.

“What are you suggesting?” John asked grimly.

“John, what are you thinking? For Christ sake!” Shaw exclaimed. “We can’t take his word for anything, think about it!” 

“Shaw! Shut the fuck up. What choice do we have right now? Harold could die and I don’t want his last moments to be filled with agony!”

“I could sedate him, John,” she countered.

“No… he’s already had enough of that to kill an average person. We can’t sedate him again.”

Shaw shot back, “so you’re just going to go along with this asshole then?” 

John looked back at the grinning lunatic and asked begrudgingly, “What are you proposing?”


	34. Part Thirteen - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there... I think, lol. Thanks for hanging in there everyone! Comments are greatly appreciated.

The monster grinned inwardly, knowing that the bait had been taken. “There are all kinds of drugs in the refrigerator as you’ve already seen. We’d actually only scratched the surface of what’s in there.” He smiled his most convincingly benign smile and waited a beat as John studied him, suspicious of every word. 

“Just hear me out John,” he winced from the kink in his neck that he got from looking up at him. He waited for some sort of reply.

John clenched his teeth together and resigned himself to at least hear what the monster was going to suggest. 

Something had to be done immediately for Harold’s pain and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath while he tried to block out the sounds of suffering behind him. 

It was an impossibility. He opened his eyes and scrutinized those of the madman.

“How could I ever trust you when I know without a doubt that bad things will come of it?” John replied cautiously. “What do you hope to gain from helping us, from helping him?”

“John,” Lionel spoke up, he was standing at the console while Shaw had made her way to look inside the cooler. “Whatever’s gonna to happen, it’s gotta happen soon. His vitals are tanking again.”

Shaw looked up from the supplies stored away in the refrigerator, all in bags and vials, some labeled, some not. “John!” she started as she quickly made her way to where Lionel was standing and saw the horrible situation with her own eyes. 

“Make it snappy, whatever you’re going to decide... do it now, there’s no time to lose.” Shaw shook her head in frustration.  
She barely managed to keep herself from beating the monster to death with her bare hands.

“What do you want?” John asked again, barely maintaining his own pent-up rage. 

He felt impotent. He felt like nothing was in his control and it was eating him alive. 

All he could do at this point was take things one step at a time and prevent himself from killing the lunatic before he got what he needed from him… after that... all bets were off.

“I’m so glad you asked,” the monster replied cheerfully. “Now here’s what I’m thinking,” he began. “The first thing, of course, is that I’d like to have some feeling back in my limbs. So, if you’ll be so kind as to unbind me, I would be very grateful.”

“You son of a bitch… look at what you’ve done to my partner. He hasn’t been able to move his limbs for hours; how do you think he felt!?” John spat venomously at the bastard.

“Yes, I do see your point. Nevertheless, by untying me now you will buy Mister Finch some much-needed relief from his pain for a little while. I mean, we can’t have a civilized conversation with me lying here on the floor now, can we? It’s a bitch on my neck, craning to look up at you,” he finished casually.

John almost lost it. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from breaking the man’s ‘sore’ neck. 

The hypocrisy and the irony in what he was experiencing with being bound and his discomfort was in stark contrast to what Harold had been tortured and put through, it was almost unbearable to hear the bastard equate their situation.

Harold lay still but for the continuous trembling in his entire traumatized frame. 

He was semi-conscious but just conscious enough to be held in a state of misery with nothing else to focus on but the unending pain. He came to realize that he was pleading but couldn’t help himself, there was too much happening to his frayed nerves and tortured body to stay quiet. 

He could hardly concentrate and found himself uttering, “Please… please,” over and over again with a weak and tremulous voice. He couldn’t fight it, “Please… it hurts,” he begged weakly. 

His eyes were open and peering, unfocused at the ceiling as he continued his pitiful murmuring for relief.

John couldn’t take it. He stood abruptly and paused to put a hand on Harold’s quaking shoulder. Harold recoiled from the gentle touch. The minute pressure seemingly unbearable to his over-sensitized body. 

“Finch?” John removed his hand, feeling awful for causing any additional discomfort to his partner. “Harold… I’m going to give you something, but you have to tell me what’s happening to you after I do. Do you understand?” There was no response to his actual question, just incoherent whispers that none of them could understand now. 

Shaw rushed to the table, taking a second to kick the psychopath in the stomach along the way, eliciting a pained grunt out of him.

“Finch?” she asked earnestly and leaned over him to look into his red, swollen eyes. 

“No…” he replied quietly and his whole body suddenly quaked with stress.

“Harold, answer me, can you hear me?” she tried again while Lionel watched in dread as Harold’s vitals slowly plunged on the display in the console.

“I… I have to go.” Harold replied weakly, “Please… let me go.” Tears of misery again, pooled and ran freely from both sides of his face.

John choked back a sob and turned away from the horrible sight and from everyone else in the room. 

What was he supposed to do? 

He wrestled with himself but decided there could be no more wasting time... Harold didn’t have anymore. 

“He’s delirious again John, something has to give here or he’s not going to make it. We have to get him stabilized and if I can’t sedate him again then we have to do something about the pain he’s in.”

It was time to act and John shook himself and went into command mode, he could no longer stand around and listen to the suffering that Harold was experiencing.

“Shaw,” he began as he watched her shake her head in frustration and insert a needle into the IV catheter still in the top of Harold’s left hand. 

She hung a bag of solution she’d brought in on the gurney. “We’re going to use what we can from the cooler,” he stated steadfastly.

“You’re serious?” she asked, unconvinced as she started the pump of saline solution flowing.

“You said it yourself, we have to do something for him,” John countered concisely.

“I know what some of those drugs do and I can weed out at least the ones that aren’t going to help.”

“John?” the bastard spoke up, “You’ll need my help with that,” he stated confidently.

John ignored the lunatic much to the man’s chagrin and walked to the cooler. “Lionel, help me with these.”

Fusco hurried around the console, thankful for something to do other than watch the tragic decline of their beloved friend and leader.

“John, you’ll need my help with that!” the monster tried again obstinately. “You’re going to end up killing your friend if you don’t let me help!”

No one gave the monster a second look as they banded together and brought over and looked through the supplies from the cooler.

“I’ll wait… for you there,” Harold whispered. “I’ll… wait,” he breathed and fell quiet and contemplative again, trembling all the while.

Lionel stood next to him and felt tears sting his eyes at the horrible state Harold was in.

“We’ll try this one first,” Shaw stated. “If we can believe what’s on the label, it should help him with the pain and we can work diligently on stabilizing him the best we can and get him out of this hell hole.” 

The asshole spoke up once again, “That’s just it now isn’t it John?” he taunted. “Can you really know for sure what’s in the bag?”

John pretended not to hear the bastard and nodded his agreement to Shaw, “Hook him up.”

Before she was able to get the pump going the lunatic tried again, “Are you really that sure John? You know how I love creating my own concoctions. Who’s to say that whatever’s written on the label is what’s really in the bag?” he grinned but no one looked at him, making him petulant.

"Please…" Harold begged. 

He’d found a moment of lucidity and wanted to take anything he could get good or bad to change his current state of misery. “Please… John.”

John locked eyes with his partner and nodded sadly.

The bastard giggled infuriatingly, and John only hesitated for a second before he adamantly stated to Shaw, “Do it.”


	35. Part Fourteen - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shape of things to come... sorry I couldn't resist the reference to an episode of "Lost."

Shaw immediately started the drip and turned to watch Harold intently for the first indication of the new drug entering his system.

Harold’s eyes welled again with tears, “Thank you… John.” 

The gratitude he felt for his partner in the moment, whether any good came of it or not, was overwhelming. He knew that it wasn’t an easy decision for John to make knowing what they did of the monsters penchant for deception.

“You’ll be sorry for that Mister Reese,” the lunatic mocked.

The team still paid no attention to him as they stood around the table for a few moments and waited anxiously for a sign of what was to come.

“How do you feel, Harold?” John asked him gently while Shaw double checked the pump.

Harold blinked a few times, considering his reply. 

He did feel different. The pain was there still, but seemed to be receding a bit and he didn’t feel as if he was still on the same precipice of insanity from it as he was just a few moments ago.

“Give it a little more time,” Shaw stated and leaned over to look directly into Harold’s eyes. 

He looked back and seemed to be a bit more focused than he’d been since she’d first seen him. “There has been a change, hasn’t there Finch?” she asked expectantly.

“Yes…” he replied, uncertain of how to describe the difference. 

He didn’t have the strength to carry on a conversation but the pain was progressively fading further into the background and was now finally becoming bearable, if only just.

He smiled up at his friends as best he could, “thank you all,” he said softly.

They all breathed a collective sigh of relief, as did Harold.

“Don’t mention it,” Shaw replied, “but you’re far from out of the woods. We’re going to get you ready to move as soon as you’re vitals are a little stronger. So I’m going to have to ask you to hang in there for us, okay?” 

“You’re not getting him out of here alive, surely you realize that; don’t you Mister Reese?” the monster did his best to provoke John. He couldn’t stand being ignored, “I’m telling you, he’s already dead!”

That was enough. John looked at Lionel and Shaw and they could see it in his eyes. 

The first pressing crisis was averted for the moment. Harold wasn’t in as much pain as he had been and John was now ready to take a small moment to dole out some much-needed justice and finally get some relief for himself. 

“Finch, you’re going to make it. I swear.” Harold looked at John anxiously, too weak and exhausted to respond. 

Harold tried to indicate that he believed and trusted him through his eyes… the emotion and gratitude he felt, but couldn’t articulate. 

He could only hope that it was being communicated through their ingrained connection; it’s all he could manage right now.

John motioned for Shaw to follow him over to the lunatic, grabbing the always handy duct tape off of the gurney as they made their way over to the monster.

The bastard looked up at John tauntingly, ignoring Shaw all together as they stood over him.

John and the rest of them knew that Harold would find what was about to happen to the lunatic unbearable. So the first thing Shaw did was strip off a piece of the tape and quickly applied it to the monster's mouth as John held him as still as he could.

The animal didn’t have much of a chance to get anything free from his foul mouth before it was covered, but what he did manage reaffirmed John’s decision.

As he struggled to put off what was about to happen to him, the bastard yelled out, “You’re dead, Mister Finch! You’re already dead!” and laughed maniacally before he was manhandled into submission and silence.

Harold wasn’t deterred in the least. 

In fact, he was finding himself becoming angry by the madman’s insane assertions that he had any knowledge or control of what happened from here. 

Lionel looked at Finch, expecting to see fear or anxiety at the outburst but instead, he saw only resolve and determination in his worn features. 

Fusco grinned, knowing that Finch was as tough as they come and they needn’t worry too much about him in the long run. Harold was going to make it; he was sure of it.

John leaned over the asshole and picked him up by the back of the neck, dragging him toward the door when he paused to tell Shaw, “Bring some of this lunatics “concoctions” with you.” He drug the squirming man into the hall, “and a syringe.”

Shaw smiled wide, “Oh boy, I can’t wait!” and went back to the gurney.

Lionel wasn’t exactly sure what was happening but wanted to do his part and attempted to distract Harold from the commotion of the lunatics grunts and groans as he was hauled out of the room, “How you doing there, professor?” he asked casually.

Harold looked up at him a little confused by what he could hear but couldn’t see.

“There just gonna take him to another room, you know, secure him so he doesn’t get away,” Lionel asserted.

Harold wasn’t stupid and he was lucid enough to know what was happening but couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Lionel,” Shaw began and walked over to the table, “keep an eye on him for a minute,” she put her hand on his for a moment she looked into Harold’s eyes. “We won’t be long and then we’re getting you out of here, got it?” 

Harold looked at her solemnly but offered no objection to what he knew would be unpleasant, to say the least, for the monster.

“I’m going to put a neck brace on you as soon as I get back, so be prepared,” she demanded. 

Harold took a deep breath and raised a thumb, signaling that he understood.

Shaw tried to be her normal unfeeling and all business self but was finding it more and more difficult to feel unaffected by the atrocity of what had happened, yet again, to their benevolent leader. 

Was she finally becoming more human all of a sudden? 

Nah.

She grabbed an IV line and accessories and a few bags of the monsters ‘concoctions’ John had indicated were used on Harold. 

Along with a vial of sodium pentothal and a syringe, she made her way towards the doorway.

“If anything changes, I’m going to be right on the other side of the wall. I’ll be back very soon to check your vitals again, Finch. It’s just a waiting game for now.”

“She’s something, huh?” Lionel remarked as Shaw moved out of sight and saw a small smile play on Harold’s lips. 

He grinned as well and chuckled.

“She’s a… pistol,” Finch replied, quietly amused. 

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate away from the pain that remained. It was bearable at least and he was no longer trembling continually, another added luxury for the moment that he tried to appreciate. 

He didn’t want to think about anything going on in the other room or what was going to happen to him next, although he knew that would be an impossibility. 

He tried to focus on pleasant things, things he loved dearly. Grace’s eyes and her love of Charles Dickens and other artists such as Giorgio de Chirico. 

Her fascination with his thin, uneven lips, how she would touch them and then kiss them tenderly. Her kindness and gentleness and her beautiful smile. 

He was in a rather nice place right now, a place that he’d be happy to stay in forever. 

Lionel took the opportunity to walk back over to the console to keep an eye on Harold’s fluctuating vitals. He wondered what was going to happen in the other room. 

He didn’t want to see it though. He’d seen enough for a lifetime. Not that he objected, of course. 

The guy had it coming and more. He just didn’t want to be the one doling it out. 

John though… John needed and deserved to unleash his fury on the lunatic... and the lunatic deserved everything coming to him.

Shaw rounded the doorway and came in with the paraphernalia John had told her to bring.

The monster was struggling uselessly on the floor, straining and groaning against the restraints as he tried to get out of them while John watched on with quiet detachment.

He looked over at her when she came in. He looked at her determinedly and put out his hand, “Give me the needle,” he demanded coolly.


	36. Part Fifteen - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Famous last words but the end may be near. Thanks again everyone! Please feel free to drop a comment.

Shaw entered the stark white room with the supplies. The monster sat in the middle on an old reclining office chair. There was no other furniture in sight. Cabinets lined the walls and ran along the perimeter of the room. 

John was leaning against one of them when she came in, staring the lunatic down.

Shaw smiled brazenly and put everything down on a counter; then she dutifully made a show of extracting a small amount of sodium pentothal into a syringe. 

“How much you want?” she asked while she slowly pulled the liquid into the cylinder then paused. “Do we want him down for the count, or just put him out for a little while?” 

“I just want him compliant Shaw. I need to get him prepared to administer some of his own handiwork.” John watched the lunatics eyes widen in fear and alarm as Shaw handed over the sharp instrument.

“Mmmph!” as soon as the monster saw what was about to happen, he grumbled and screeched in his throat and began squirming in the chair he now sat in. 

His arms were positioned behind the back of the chair leaving them and his tied legs free for John to access them. 

The bastard tried in vain to pull at the binds that still had him firmly secured. 

His now abraded wrists were raw and began to bleed as John approached him with Shaw close behind. His eyes focused on the needle and he became even more frantic with his struggling.

“You’ve asked for this buddy,” Shaw declared, “hell you’ve practically begged for it,” she added, entertained by the fear she now saw behind his villainous eyes.

“Help me get his sleeve rolled up,” John demanded while the monster continued to struggle and stare wide-eyed at the sharp object in John’s hand.

Then they both stopped and at the same time, realizing something. 

Shaw looked at John and grinned. “He’s afraid of needles, John.”

John nodded, “Yes, it looks like he is.” He looked at the lunatic malevolently. “This is going to be fun for me. You do realize that don’t you, you bastard?” he mocked, throwing the monsters own words from before back at him.

The lunatic couldn’t take his eyes off the syringe John brandished in his hand. “Mmmmph… mmmph!” he tried desperately as sweat trickled down his face.

“Shaw, help me get his sleeve out of the way.”

“Wait, John. I have a better idea,” she stated, quite pleased with herself for thinking of it.

John turned and looked at her irritably.

“Don’t you want to hear him beg?” she added quickly.

“Oh, he’s going to beg.” John sneered as he glared at the man and raised the needle to eye level. “I promise you.” 

The madman squeezed his eyes shut, and began shaking and whimpering in fear.

“Just wait a second… I think I have something special for him,” she grinned at the cowering man impishly. “Why don’t we give him a little juice to get his metabolism going and then we can give him a taste of his own medicine?” 

John turned to her and grinned knowingly. “A barbiturate?” he asked, out loud for the monsters benefit.

“Great minds…” she replied and expelled the contents of the syringe and affixed a new vial to the needle. She stood directly in front of the monster and slowly filled it with a heavy dose while he sat transfixed and trembling. “This should be just enough to enhance his experience with his homemade brews.”

John stood there and watched the lunatic begin to full-on panic now and relished the terror in his face. 

He walked behind the man and cut both his shirt sleeves open exposing his arms.

“He’s ready. Hold his arm still,” John ordered and took the syringe from Shaw. 

She grinned at the man before joining John around at his back then held his left arm as still as possible as the man frantically fought and twisted in her grip. 

John found a vein and expertly inserted the needle as the man screamed ineffectually behind his covered mouth. 

As it pricked his skin and sunk in, unleashing the stimulant into his bloodstream, the animal’s whole body began to shudder as the drug took effect. His noises of protest continued but quieted into a constant frantic whimper as his heartbeat intensified.

John walked around and, none too gently, ripped the duct tape off of his mouth. 

The man gasped at the sudden stinging pain involved in the violent action but made no additional sound but for labored breathing now as his body became aware of an unwelcomed agent coursing through his bloodstream. His mind began to race.

Shaw looked at John and grinned, clearly enjoying the show, but John couldn’t find any true pleasure in what they were going to do.

He suddenly realized that Harold had gotten him past the time in his life where he could have taken any pleasure from interrogating and torturing people. 

For him it was a matter of exacting justice for the senseless destruction and harm he’d inflicted to a righteous and honorable man. 

“Next stage I think,” Shaw remarked and walked toward the monster with another needle, an IV line, and a bag of fluid.

The madman fixated on her hands, terrified as she came closer to him waving the longer, bigger needle tauntingly. 

John took a deep breath and watched her go to work.

#

After a few minutes of watching Finch’s vitals rise a little then taper into what might be an acceptable range, Lionel walked over to the table to check on his friend. 

He stood over him and felt a pang in his heart from the knowledge of what he’d been put through as he looked down on the injured man. 

Lionel hoped he was sleeping; his eyes were closed, but even then he could see the suffering playing out behind them in every line of his sallow features. 

He realized just then that he’d never seen Finch without his glasses or his usual layers of armor. He suddenly felt guilty for some weird reason.  
Maybe it was because he thought that he was seeing something forbidden or hadn’t earned the right to see his kind, private friend unmasked.

Harold could feel the atmosphere around his over- stimulated body change from the presence of someone in his immediate proximity. 

His eyelids fluttered and he opened them slowly, blinking through the haze of drugs to see the worry etched on Lionel’s face. 

He narrowed his eyebrows and felt a little out of sorts before he realized the situation he still found himself in.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake ya,” Lionel began. “I just kinda wanted to make sure you were ok… ya know?” he smiled sadly at Harold, feeling bad that he’d pulled him from somewhere he might have been at peace in.

“It’s… quite alright detective,” Harold rasped softly. 

He tried to answer him comfortingly. He could tell that Lionel was feeling guilty and wanted to assure him that he wasn’t angry or cross with him for bringing him back into awareness. 

He had been more than happy to be in that other realm for the time he had, but now the pain was returning again and he would have resurfaced again on his own soon anyway.

“How you feeling?” Lionel asked then mentally kicked himself. “I mean, is the medicine still helping any?” he amended awkwardly.

Harold forced a smile, “For now.” he answered weakly. 

It was still true to a point but it wouldn’t be for long. He could feel the pain and misery coming back and pounding on the door. It would soon come crashing in on him again and he knew it.

He would do his best to ignore it for as long as he was able. Now he could only hope to leave this prison soon and get somewhere they could really help him before it all became too unbearable again. He longed for a respite from it all and was anxious to get back to the outside. 

He hoped that they could put him out for days, if not longer to release him from this nightmare until he could function on his own again without wanting to die.

Lionel spoke up again, pulling him back to the present, “That’s real good. I’m glad to hear it. I’d sure hate to be you right now.” Fusco replied nervously and again wanted to smack himself for his stupid remarks. 

He could see it starting to overpower Harold again as it came creeping back slowly but surely. It was obvious and he knew that although Harold was a master of hiding his pain from them all, he couldn’t mask what was so obviously impossible to keep a secret… it was an insurmountable objective.

A noise from the next room broke the uneasy moment and Harold was quick to ask the question. “Where’s John?”

Lionel swallowed hard and began to explain what was most likely happening in the other room while Finch listened and steadily grew increasingly uncomfortable with what he was being told.


	37. Part Sixteen - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic time all over again! Comments are always welcomed, thanks again to everyone who's hung in there all this time! The end is in sight... I think, lol.

After Lionel had finished telling Finch that John and Shaw had taken the guy into another room because he wouldn’t keep his big mouth shut, Harold took a deep, unsettling breath.

“How long… have they been gone?” he asked weakly, feeling his body temperature rising on top of the returning pain.

He could feel the moisture gathering in droplets on his forehead and into his hairline, then trickling down the sides of his face.

“They just went in there about fifteen minutes ago,” Lionel replied nervously as he dabbed at the sweat on his friend’s brow. “But don’t you worry about it,” he added quickly, “You want some water or something?”

Before Harold could answer, they heard what sounded like a muffled commotion coming through the wall to their right.

Lionel rolled his eyes, searching for something to say to deter Harold’s negative response from the noise; he hastily added, “I don’t think John’s gonna kill him though… I mean knowin' you don’t go for that kind of thing and all.” _Jesus Christ!_ He thought to himself, _I’m only makin' it worse!_

“What...” Harold took another breath, fighting back the pain that was unfurling upon him again swiftly. “What are… they doing… to him?” he gasped unsteadily.

“Well I… I don’t know exactly,” Lionel stammered. “They took some of the guy’s stuff with em, is all I know for sure.”

He looked down at his poor friend and felt like crap for what he’d had to divulge. The expression of pain and abhorrence on Harold’s face from the news was obvious, but he couldn’t lie to the man.

What they were doing went against everything Harold stood for, and he couldn’t bear the thought of any heinous acts being inflicted upon another human being on his account… justifiably in their own minds or no.

“Please get John… detective," he began and winced again at a particular vicious stab to the back of his head. Lionel cringed in sympathy, “Please… hurry,” he stressed when they heard another less distinctive sound emanating from the same direction.

“Okay professor, calm down. I’m goin'.” Lionel hastily made his way to the other room, reluctant to do so, but time was a major issue again.

Harold’s pain and distress was ramping up and Sameen needed to see to it right away.

He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to see when he opened the door, but what Lionel came upon was a little surprising, and if he were being honest, a little unnerving.

“What’s wrong?” John asked right away.

He saw the look of anxiety on Lionel’s face by what he was witnessing, but couldn’t be bothered coddling the burly man. “Did something happen with Finch?” he pressed anxiously.

Lionel blinked a couple of times and then answered irritably, “Yeah, he heard this nut case making a lot of racket. What the hell is going on in here?”

Lionel took in his surroundings ill at ease.

Shaw was standing beside the monster. His chair had been pushed up against the far wall where he sat zip tied with his wrists now bound to the arms of an office chair.

The seat had been pulled to its full height while his legs, still held firmly together at the ankles, hung just above the floor.

The lunatic had quieted and had a glazed over, faraway look in his eyes.

The IV needle poking out of his left arm didn’t hide the fact that the guy must be trippin' on some serious shit as he sat there, drooling and clearly short of breath.

The IV bag hung from a coat hook of all things that was attached to the wall behind him. Lionel couldn’t help but be impressed by the ingenuity his lethal friends had with the unusual method.

“Sameen, you gotta go do something now. The professor’s wiggin out in there listening to all the noise comin from the other side of the wall.” He looked at John’s concerned face, “His pain is coming back on him with a vengeance too and all this is causing his blood pressure to go screwy again.”

“Did you tell him what we were doing in here, Lionel?” John rasped dangerously as he and Shaw brushed past him.

“He asked wise guy, I couldn’t lie to him!” he called after them, “especially since you two were so damn loud about it!” he added for good measure.

“Stay with the bastard, Lionel,” Shaw shot behind her as they hurried out of the room.

Lionel stood in front of the dazed lunatic and watched as his eyes seemed to cloud over and he became very still.

It was an eerie thing to see and he was a little confused with how he truly felt about it, but decided that he wasn’t responsible for any of it.

Besides, the guy did have some payback coming to him after all he’d done.

#

When John and Sameen got back to the room, the first thing John did was go to Harold’s side while Shaw went directly to the console to check the displays of Finch’s vitals.

Harold’s eyes were closed as he took weak, uneven breaths, and John could tangibly feel the suffering and distress that came off his partner in waves.

“Finch…?” John prompted him gently and took his partner’s limp appendage in his hand, reassuring him that he was there with him.

Harold opened his weary eyes and took in the guilty appearance so clearly written on John’s face with a feeling of dread.

“What… have you done?” he rasped weakly.

“Finch, I…” John couldn’t continue.

He knew that in Harold’s eyes, what they had done, and would have continued to do until the man was thoroughly insane, was not something that Finch could live with knowing he was the underlying reason.

“He’s in the other room Finch,” he began warily. “He’s just sitting in a chair, obedient for now.” John looked into the mournful blue orbs, so full of pain and disappointment and felt tears sting his own eyes at what he’d done.

“We didn’t kill him, I swear,” he added remorsefully. “We just… gave him some of his own medicine.” John knew the moment the words left his lips just how wrong his plan for justice was in Harold’s eyes.

Harold had no words and finally couldn’t think through the persistent anguish anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut and bore down on John’s hand with a vise-like grip.

John had seen it coming as soon as his partner’s body began to tremble once again. His jaw clamped down tight, grinding his teeth painfully as the pain hit the threshold of Harold’s tolerance like a freight train.

John turned to Shaw. “Get over here, Shaw!” he yelled. “Hang on, Harold… please, just hang on.”

Finch’s vision began to white out around the edges of consciousness. His hearing became a wall of static until the pain was so encompassing, a blanket of agony covered him over and mercifully pulled him into the black abyss.

“Damn it!” Shaw exclaimed and hurried over to the table. “Get out of the way.” She pushed John to the side and went into action.

She changed out one of the bags that hung from the stand and added a different one.

“What is that you’re giving him?” John demanded anxiously.

“Don’t worry about it, John. I don’t have time, I know what the hell I’m doing!” She was a flurry of action as Harold lay there breathing short and shallow breaths, with streams of perspiration running down the sides of his face.

Shaw quickly checked Harold’s pupils and pulled off the blanket and lay a stethoscope on his chest. She moved it around, listening to his struggling heart and lungs desperately working to keep him alive.

“Here! Make yourself useful.” She handed John a towel and he wiped his partner’s face with the cool cloth as she ran back over to the console.

“What the hell, Shaw!” John demanded again nervously as she studied the display and still paid him little attention.

“I had to give him something else John; we have to get him out of here, now! There’s no more time to waste.” Shaw went back to the table and prepared to put the neck brace on Harold’s unconscious form. “I need your help damn it!” she barked.

“What about his strength? He won’t make it!” John retorted angrily.

“We can’t wait any longer John, it’s now or never… Fusco!” she shouted toward the open doorway.

“John, listen to me,” she began calmly while John seemed to be in shock staring down at his struggling partner fighting with everything he had. “Look at me damn you!” she ordered.

John shook himself and Lionel came back into the room hurriedly.

“Lionel, you’re going to go watch the display of his skeletal structure,” she began calmly. “You’re not stupid. You’re going to tell me if you see anything weird happening with the vertebrae at the top of his spine, got it?”

“What? What do you mean weird?” he replied nervously.

“Look Lionel! You’re going to tell me if the alignment gets any worse while we get this brace on him, okay?” Lionel looked scared to death. “You can do this,” she assured him as evenly as her angry self could manage. “I know what I’m doing here and I probably won’t even need to hear from you, okay?” she tried to calm him again. “Okay?” she tried again.

“Yeah, yeah sure, okay,” he replied uneasily and went to stand behind the console, focusing on the display indicated.

He didn’t want to watch them mess around with Harold’s grievously injured neck so he kept his eyes averted away from the horrifying scene and strictly on the display.

Shaw looked at John intently, “I need you to help me while I position his head. You’ll need to get this collar around his neck, do you understand me?” she demanded. “It’s crucial that we don’t screw this up John, are you ready?”

John nodded and waited for the order hesitantly. God, he didn’t want to cause permanent damage. He’d never be able to live with himself if he accidentally paralyzed his partner.

“You’re going to wrap the support around his neck as carefully as you can when I get him ready and say the word, got it?”

John looked at her with fear and panic clearly evident in his blue eyes and slowly nodded.


	38. Part Seventeen - Alternate Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite finished yet but we're getting there if there's anyone left who cares, lol. Thanks as always to the die hard Finch Whumpers!!! Comments are always appreciated!

John watched with dread and trepidation as Shaw stood at the head of the table, holding Harold’s sweat drenched head carefully between her small capable hands. 

“Don’t talk,” she ordered, looking at the concern on John’s face. “Just listen,” she started and closed her eyes. “I can see the alignment in my memory, John. Get ready to put the neck brace on as smoothly as you possibly can when I say the word.”

John took a deep breath and picked up the neck support, while Shaw concentrated on the image in her mind. 

She ever so slightly shifted the position of Harold’s head as gently as she could.

“It’s a good thing he’s out for this,” she remarked absently. “There’s no doubt, this would be completely agonizing if he were awake.” She opened her eyes and looked down at Harold for any indicators that he might be conscious at all and found none, “Okay, I’m going to keep his head as still as possible while you slide the back of the brace under his neck. Got it?”

John nodded instinctively but he was a nervous wreck inside. “Ready.” He took a deep breath and waited anxiously.

Shaw did the same, “Okay now, just slip it underneath real slow.” Shaw watched the positioning of the brace as John pushed it under his partner’s neck carefully. He tried not to touch him with it but there was no way to get it through without it brushing along the back of Harold’s damp neck. The contact was minimal but John was terrified that there had to be any hint of it touching him and prayed that there wasn’t enough of the support running across his skin to wake him up.

Shaw kept Harold’s head perfectly immobilized and watched until it came through on the other side.

“Okay a little bit more and we’re done with the first step.”

John’s heart was beating out of his chest. The most minor of actions needed to be precise or the consequences would be unbearable. His nerves were taut and becoming frayed from the stress. He swallowed hard as once again his mind supplied him with the stark reality of just how bad Harold’s condition was.

“Okay phase two John…” Shaw began, but was momentarily distracted by a harsh shriek emanating from the other room, followed by a few seconds of continuous yelps of terror.

“Jesus!” Lionel exclaimed. “What the hell’s going on in there?”

“Never mind that! We’ve got more important things in here to deal with right now!” Shaw shot back irritably. 

John didn’t miss a beat as he carefully and precisely brought the front piece of the collar around Harold’s neck and fit the lower guard snugly against his chin and swiftly but surely began to attach the Velcro straps.

“Make sure their snug but not too tight,” Shaw instructed him.

“I know. I know,” John replied, exasperated by the sudden outburst and subsequent continuous disjointed sounds of distress coming into the room from the hallway. 

John silently hoped that Finch wouldn’t wake up and hear the lunatic’s screams of horror as another one joined in the cacophony of noise. 

Harold wouldn’t forgive him easily for his impulsive need to get retribution for the harm that had been inflicted upon him but he had no time to think about that now. 

He could only hope that at some point, he would be absolved by his benevolent partner and in the future they could put it behind them. There would be a future for them them, John would move heaven and earth to make it so, there was no other possibility. Harold was going to make it out of this pit of misery alive. If John had to sell his own soul to make it happen… he would do so in a heartbeat.

Another shriek came into the room through the doorway, “Lionel, get that door shut and hurry it!” John ordered impatiently.

Lionel moved swiftly to do as he was told and the closer he got to the hallway, the louder the panting and whimpering became. “The guy is losin’ his shit in there,” Lionel remarked tensely and closed the door.

“We can’t worry about him right now. We’ve got to get Harold out of here, now!” Shaw retorted intolerantly. She wasn’t going to let Harold die, not after everything he’d lived through thus far. “Get over here and clear off the gurney,” She prompted Lionel and proceeded to rush back to the display. “John, just keep an eye on him. We can’t leave his side for anything now.”

Shaw looked at Harold’s vitals and ground her teeth in anger at what she saw. they were extremely weak but it couldn’t be helped, they had to get him moved immediately to a trauma center, they couldn’t delay it any longer.

John could hardly think through the stress. Then an idea finally hit. 

Why he or Shaw hadn’t already thought about it yet was beyond him, but nonetheless. “Lionel, contact doctor Tillman and fill her in. She can get everything ready at the same safe house we used last time,” John began. “Tell her we need her other doctor friends as well… and tell her we need them all now!” John demanded urgently.

“I’m on it,” Lionel replied and pulled out his phone and went outside the room, closing the door behind him. 

 

“Shit, John! We should have already thought of that,” Shaw remarked angrily.

How could that have gotten overlooked? How could they have let themselves get so wrapped up in letting the monster distract them, that they neglected something so vital? 

She was pissed at herself and at John for being so irresponsible, but didn’t have long to dwell on before Finch started to wake up.

Harold opened his eyes slowly, and then he suddenly gasped and took a deep breath, only to be viciously reminded that his entire body was in agony, including his lungs.

“What’s… happening!?” he panted painfully, unable to catch his breath. “John… please!” Harold looked up at his partner’s stricken expression and realized where he was, but couldn’t figure out what was going on around him. 

He could hardly take in any air and felt constricted. He couldn’t move more than a finger and started to feel as if he were spiraling out of control. 

He began to panic as a wave of vertigo washed over him, instantly making him want to wretch with its intensity. 

He stared up at John, sweat trickling down the sides of his face, trying to focus on John’s eyes... but found it impossible to do so. 

He had to hold what little bit of breath he had in his lungs to keep himself from vomiting.

“Harold, it’s alright. Just slow down and try to breathe evenly.” John could see the panic behind the pain in his partner’s eyes and had to calm himself down first to be able to help him. 

Then John could see it in Harold’s wan expression. Harold was nauseous and was fighting it with all of the self-control he could manage.

“I’m… sick…” he huffed between shallow breaths, “please…”

“Shaw, Finch needs to be vertical, right away!” he shouted toward the console in earnest and quickly… as much as he detested it, he had to strap Harold’s upper body back against the table for support. 

There was no other option and it had to be done immediately.

Shaw saw the control to raise the table and called over to Harold, “I’m tilting the table Finch, just try and hold on!” She could tell what was happening as well and tried to control the rate of speed as best as she was able. 

The whole scenario was one big nightmare and she couldn’t wait to get Harold the hell out of this horror show and somewhere they could get him the help he sorely needed.

John grabbed a bag, ready to put it over Harold’s mouth when he needed it. 

He mentally prayed that Finch could wait long enough to be positioned upright before he had to expel whatever might come up. 

Otherwise he could choke and asphyxiate himself and end up causing any number of other complications.

“Hold on Harold. Look at me and hold on,” John encouraged him as best he could. 

John was freaking out in his own mind too, but focusing on one traumatic thing at a time and helping his partner through it was the only thing that was important. He couldn’t let his panic get the best of him.

Harold fought with all his might and managed to keep himself from throwing up until he was almost vertical. 

Then he had to give in and let John hold the bag to his face while his system expelled a miniscule amount of liquid from his stomach. 

The pain of the exertion was excruciating and induced two rounds of dry heaves until he almost passed out again from the agony of the effort and the painful pressure to his ribs and abdomen. 

He felt pins and needles running through his shoulders and his arms that hung heavily at his sides. 

He was too weak to raise them and he breathed sporadically while his respiratory system slowly, agonizingly calmed down. 

John could only look at Harold mournfully and watch as the adrenalin seeped out of him and the pain come back on him in spades. 

“I’m so sorry, Harold,” John tried to sooth his partner.

“We have to move you, Harold. We have to do it now,” Shaw came around the table and stood next to John. 

Harold closed his eyes, fighting and concentrating as intently as he could to keep his suffering quiet. 

He couldn’t speak at the moment and the neck brace that he now wore would make it a difficult proposition anyway. He despised wearing a collar, the memories they brought back were almost unbearable. 

Truth be told, he didn’t want to struggle anymore but he knew he owed it to his friends to try.

“Harold, listen,” Shaw started again. “we have to move you now so man up and prepare yourself.” she said again and went back to the console to lower the table back down. 

There would be no choice for their friend. They were taking him out of there like it or not.

Lionel came back in the room and announced, “The doc is getting everything together and meeting us at the house,” he saw Harold semi-conscious and in misery and felt his heart constrict in his chest at the sight.

“Good. Tillman’s on board and we’re in motion!” Shaw announced, “I’m lowering you now Finch. Hold your breath if you have to.” She got the table moving to lay horizontally again and went back to the Harold’s side.

“Get ready Finch. This place is beneath you, we’re getting you out of this dump,” John tried lightheartedly. 

Harold tried his best at a smile, but came up short as the table came to a stop and his stomach roiled again.

“Alright,” Shaw remarked and set the breaks on the gurney. “Stop standing around John. Lionel, are you two ready to get our friend out of here?” 

“Damn right we are!” Lionel offered as optimistically as he could and grinned at Harold encouragingly. 

Harold took as deep of a breath as he could safely manage and began to let it out in preparation, when a horrific shriek came through the wall so suddenly it startled everyone in the room.

Harold’s expression of shock locked on to John’s surprised and shaken eyes and John instantly felt a sense of dread.


	39. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is it, let me have it! Good, bad, indifferent? Break it to me gently, did I screw it up? Thanks to everyone that spent their valuable time on this pain-riddled trek through Finch torture land. 
> 
> **As always a special thank you to oddgit, my cheerleader and my frequent instigator in all things whump.

“Don’t worry about him, Finch. Just let it be for right now. I’ll take care of it as soon as we get you loaded up.” John knew that no matter what kind of hell he’d been put through, no matter how much pain he was in, Harold was troubled about the monster and what was happening to him.

“I can’t… let it be… John,” he rasped softly. “You know… I can’t.” The hurt and worry in Harold’s eyes made John’s heart ache and he wanted nothing more than for everything to be put behind them. He wanted Harold to be out of here and well on the way to recovery, but they were way too far away from that point.

“Well, you have no choice, Harold.” Shaw cut in acerbically, “You are the priority. Get used to it.”

More shrieks of distress sounded through the wall and John felt like going in there and killing the bastard outright, putting them all out of their misery. 

“No… Miss Shaw.” Harold winced from the effort it now took to speak, “Please… see to him first.” The neck brace and chin guard compounded his discomfort tenfold, but Harold couldn’t allow his own misery to prevent helping another human being. 

Even a sadistic lunatic of the highest order.

It just wasn’t in him; it wasn’t part of his moral fabric and it never would be.

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Shaw countered angrily, “How can you be so damned stubborn!?”

“Please Harold, let us get you out of here first and I promise you, I’ll deal with him right afterward.” John wasn’t above begging at this point. 

As much as he hated Finch’s proclivity for putting everyone, including a heartless madman who practically killed him, above himself, was infuriating but he had to abide by his stubborn partner's wishes. 

John wouldn’t put himself in a position that would drive another wedge between them, he wouldn’t give the monster that much power over him. He couldn’t do anything to change the man now and his request was denied; he could see it in Harold’s eyes. So could Shaw and Fusco.

“Alright, you know what, fine! I’ll be right back!” Shaw exclaimed bitterly and left the room.

Harold wasn’t stupid, nor was he naive. He just knew that Shaw would take the easy out and either kill the man, or inflict more harm, “Lionel… please, go after her,” he asked earnestly.

Harold’s blood pressure was spiking again. They had to get in gear and get him out of there, and fast. John felt the intense need to do something, anything... but his hands were tied again and he despised the helplessness that engulfed every cell of his body. He clenched his hands into fists in frustration and said nothing.

“Okay professor. I’ll keep her from killing the guy.” He looked down at the gentle man and shook his head in bewilderment, “I don’t get you… but I guess it’s not my job to understand why you’re the way you are, huh?” He made his way to the door and called behind him, “We go as soon as I get her back in here... understand?”

John looked at his poor partner who laid there trembling and could barely keep his weary eyes open, and replied assuredly, “Understood Lionel.”

#

“You need to shut your loud mouth you bastard,” Shaw remarked absently as she stripped off a piece of duct tape and put it over the monsters wet, slack lips. 

He didn’t give any indication of hearing, or even seeing her. She was fine with that; she didn’t have time to mess around with him. 

Their priority was in the other room, fighting for his life. Getting in here, shutting him up, and getting out immediately was her only objective.

Lionel came in right after her, “Holy shit...” he watched Shaw inspect the IV needle sticking out of the semi-conscious heap of jelly sitting there quietly now still strapped to the chair. 

“Is he gonna be alright?” he asked hesitantly. 

The monster was off somewhere else in his head, unable to focus on anything around him and made low guttural noises in the back of his throat. 

Lionel had seen plenty of junkies out of their minds on smack before, but the absolute blank look on the lunatics face was new to him and it disturbed him more than he would have thought.

“Does it matter?” Shaw retorted callously, grinding her teeth together with hatred and anger. 

Shaw would never get over what the animal had done to Harold; he deserved to undergo whatever hell he seemed to be experiencing. The suffering was practically done by his own hand and that fact made it all the better. If he wanted to play with chemicals, he should know personally what the effects were going to be.

Lionel gaped at her, “As much as I hate to say it Sameen, yeah it matters,” he replied resentfully, “Not to me or you, or even to John... but it matters to Finch and that’s what we need to abide by, like it or not.”

“Lionel.” She looked at the detective hard for an instant, “Finch may very well die.” She looked toward the monster as he nodded in and out of consciousness and added, “because of this piece shit.” She looked back at Lionel who had stopped and waited, “and I want to see a little recompense for the harm he’s done to our friend… don’t you?”

Lionel nodded, “Yeah, of course I do Sameen… but it’s not about what ‘we’ want that matters.” He looked at her pointedly, “is it?”

Shaw took a deep breath and shook her head in defeat, “You’re an asshole. You know that right.” It was a rhetorical question and Lionel grinned a little bit, “Come on, we gotta go get our friend out of here.”

Shaw nodded and followed Fusco out. She had to grin to herself as she shut the door behind her. The tape she just applied to his big mouth would keep the monster's outbursts quiet… and with any luck, the IV stuck in his arm of his own ‘concoction’ feeding his system would kill him. 

If not… well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

“And they’ll have everything ready to go as soon as we get there…” Lionel and Shaw came back into the room as John was updating Harold, trying to keep his mind occupied on something other than the misery he was in.

“Alright Harold,” Shaw began, “the guy’s safe and sound in there, we shouldn’t hear any more out of him.”

Harold looked at her, unconvinced.

“I swear I didn’t do anything else to him.” She looked at Lionel, “Did I, Fusco?”

Lionel walked over to the table, “It’s true. She didn’t do anything to him.” Harold let out a breath, “Thank you,” he said weakly and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to keep them open any longer and tried to concentrate on the voices in the room but was finding it difficult to stay lucid in the darkness behind his lids.

“John, unstrap him.” Shaw brought the gurney over to the table and lowered it to sit exactly parallel to Harold’s body.

“This is crucial boys,” she began, “we get one shot here so make it count.” 

John and Lionel nodded, “John I want you over here. We’re going to have to work together and slide him over here in one fell swoop, got it…?” she waited for a beat, “Hey! I asked if you got it?” she said again annoyed with everything.

“Yes, we got it,” John replied anxiously. Shaw looked at Lionel who nodded as well. 

“Now John, since you’re the strongest, you’re going to be on the opposite side of the gurney and it’s up to you to make sure the thing doesn’t roll on us. Lionel stand at Harold’s feet and help his legs and lower body over as gently as possible, don’t let him get hung up anywhere when he moves. I’ll stand at his head and make sure his neck doesn’t get jostled and bolster his shoulders for the transition.”

The two men nodded, “We’re ready,” John offered nervously.

“Finch?” Shaw stood over his head and prompted him with no response, then tried again. “Harold, are you ready?”

Harold was drifting somewhere between the cruel reality of excruciating pain in his entire being and the gates to purgatory, and he couldn’t tell which was worse. 

He distantly heard a woman’s voice but couldn’t make the words mean anything. “I can’t… tell…,” he slurred weakly. He didn’t know what he was saying; he didn’t even know if what he’d thought may have come out of his mouth made any sense or not. “Can…you?” he whispered then quieted again.

Shaw swallowed down the fear that suddenly overwhelmed her at his rapidly deteriorating condition; he was at death's door and she knew it. 

She looked at the two men staring down at their friend and saw John’s eyes well up. She was aware that John knew it was a long shot too... but she couldn’t allow them to lose focus in their shared grief.

“John?” he looked at her, “Are you ready?”

John blinked back his tears and nodded. 

“Lionel?”She pressed. “Yeah, let’s do this,” he replied solemnly.

“Alright on three, we slide him over all at once, One… two… three.”

John leaned his tall, lanky body over the gurney and placed his hands as gingerly as he possibly could under Harold’s left shoulder blade and lower back. He began to lift and guide Harold towards him. 

Shaw leaned over his head, bracketing it carefully between her upper arms and chest while she guided his upper torso at the same time. 

Lionel took the bottom part of Harold’s body and moved it as smoothly as he could as well. 

They got it done without major complications and all breathed a collective sigh of relief when Harold didn’t make a move or a sound. 

“That’s it. The worst part is over.” Shaw let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Thank God.” Lionel breathed and smiled at his teammates.

“Alright, let me get him strapped in. John get ready to go.” Shaw went around to get Harold secured onto the gurney while John looked around the room for anything they might take with them.

He and Lionel grabbed all the monsters homemade bags of drugs in case the doctors might need to use them to determine how to handle some unknown side effect that might pop up later with Harold.

They all hurried to get him out of there.

Suddenly, Harold’s eyes flew open and he gasped deeply as a particularly sharp stabbing sensation to the joint of his left hip assaulted him brutally. 

Shaw stood over him tightening the restraints on the gurney.

“Ahhhh!” Harold cried out in agony. “Stop, please… stop!” he winced and grimaced as tremors of agony ran through his entire frame without mercy.

“Harold! I’m sorry. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Shaw took his cold hand in hers and tried to calm his flood of suffering.

John ran over to him with Fusco close behind, “Finch, shhh… we’re almost through; it’s going to be okay, we’re going now… it’s going to be alright.” John tried to convince himself with his reassurances as much as his partner. 

John stood over him and saw every ounce of pain playing out in his features and it threatened to crush him.

Tears of torment stung Harold’s eyes as he looked up at John. 

He was completely spent as he panted through the now throbbing ache in his lower body. “John…” he gasped weakly, “help… me, please…” His pleading tapered off into silence. Once again his eyes fell closed and unconsciousness took over, pulling him into oblivion. 

John felt his own hot tears trickle down his face as he watched Harold slowly lose strength and fall quiet as he struggled to hold onto life.

As John stood there transfixed, staring down at his dying partner, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. 

He turned to see Lionel and Shaw waiting patiently for a moment while he composed himself.

Lionel fought back his own tears. 

“Let’s move,” Shaw announced without preamble.

John nodded, not trusting his voice, and they surrounded their friend and wheeled him towards the door and out of the hellish room that the two partners had inhabited for far too long.

“He’s going to make it John,” Shaw stated resolutely. “I promise you, he’s going to make it.”

As the team walked past the closed door that housed their latest nemesis, they all listened intently for any sound whatsoever.

Nothing but silence met their ears. Not even a breath came from the direction of the room and an unspoken pact was interwoven between them. 

The man was dead to them all and rightfully so, if not literally at the moment then he soon would be. He would die uncared for and unthought-of by his own deadly cocktail of drugs. If that didn’t kill him then his body would give out on him soon enough.

They would not speak of nor give a spare thought to the monster ever again. 

Without a word, they all turned their attention to the end of the hallway and walked their leader out to the ambulance and to the long, hard road to recovery. 

Harold was finally out of there and he was going to make it…


End file.
